Magic Kisses
by CaptainReina
Summary: A drabblefic in which All Might and Eraserhead adopt many kids and fall in love in the process.
1. Chapter 1

**All Might gives Recovery Girl a run for her money. **

.

Aizawa wasn't really sure when it started.

Then again, he didn't really know when _any _of this started, or how. So much had happened at once; meeting Izuku Midoriya, the death of Izuku's mother, the adoption, moving in with Number One Pro Hero All Might, and a myriad of other things Aizawa couldn't be bothered to remember. It was all written down somewhere, filed away in a cabinet in some office so Aizawa didn't have to remember the details.

He didn't really want to. It was easier, emotionally, to push that junk to the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on things like when the fuck Yagi turned into such a fantastic father figure to little Izuku, or when it started melting Aizawa's crumpled little heart.

After the death of his mother and Izuku's brave smile in the face of it, after his unwavering support of All Might despite their failure to save Mrs. Midoriya, the top hero had absolutely fallen for the kid. All Might declared that moment that he would take the child under his care and raise him as his own, a stupidly large grin on his stupid face and tears pricking at his eyes.

That, of course, came with some complications. The top hero had a job to do; he could not rear a child on his own when he worked full-time saving lives. Unless he found some help, he would not be qualified to adopt Izuku. So All Might swung his head around and, eyes locking onto the first person he saw, boldly declared, "You'll help me, won't you?!"

And like the soft, unlucky bastard that he was, the hero Eraser Head took one glance at the hopeful look on that Midoriya kid's face and said, "Whatever. Fine."

It took plenty of paperwork, money, and unbreakable dignity before both Izuku Midoriya and Shota Aizawa were ready to move into Toshinori Yagi's apartment - which, admittedly, he had only moved to a week before them to accomodate for the extra bodies. It was cozy, if too large for Aizawa's tastes, and Izuku was elated when his new caretakers bought him all sorts of hero decor and collectibles for his bedroom.

Or rather, All Might took him shopping, and Aizawa quietly put together his furniture. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand that man for so long in his muscle form.

Izuku was always downtrodden at the loss of his mother, but next to nothing could dampen the spirits of a child living with two heroes. Still, during that first year in the new apartment, Aizawa would often find himself wandering to the balcony on sleepless nights, witnessing the kid staring out at the lights of the city. Sometimes he simply gazed, the lights reflecting in his eyes. Sometimes he cried. Always, he would tell Aizawa he missed his mother.

Admittedly, at first, Aizawa had no clue what to do. He was experienced with teenagers, not five-year-olds. Izuku was patient - sad, but patient - as Aizawa fumbled through night after night of attempted explanations and flowery words, none of them right, none of them helping. It went on and on until one night, his chest aching and eyes drooping with tiredness, all Aizawa could bring himself to do was reach down and ruffle Izuku's hair, uttering only a few words.

"I know," he had sighed as the kid drooped against him. "Shit sucks."

A soft giggle. "You're not supposed to say that word."

Aizawa cocked an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Says All Might!"

"Oh no."

The words had been laced with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, which was next to zero, but Izuku laughed anyway. That was probably the night Aizawa would label as his first real connection with him - the night they made a turnaround in their relationship. Izuku seemed far more comfortable with him afterward.

.

Of course, Yagi had always been better with him. He was better at making Izuku smile, laugh, and tire out, and Izuku wanted to cling on him at all times. Even after finding out Yagi and All Might looked different, he had taken it far better than Aizawa, who had refused to speak to either form for a week. His heart bursting with the love and acceptance only a child could give so freely, Izuku declared that Small Might was even better than All Might, because he was allowed to be sad sometimes.

Izuku was a lot wiser than any adult he knew, Aizawa noted.

First Aizawa was relieved. He had no idea how to care for a child beyond very basic ideas. Annoying as All Might was, Yagi was far more bearable and knew his stuff. Aizawa left bathing and bedtime up to Yagi as much as he could, and when it came to real interaction he was totally clueless. All he could really do was make sure Izuku didn't starve or get himself killed. Yagi could be the fun parent if he wanted; Aizawa couldn't handle the pressure of it.

Then, as Izuku came out of his shell - and Aizawa started to realize maybe kids weren't so bad - he grew bitter, not that he would ever admit it. Izuku smiled for him, sometimes laughed, but he could never draw out the gut-busting shrieks of joy that Yagi could. He could never get him bouncing with excitement like Yagi could. Sure, it was only from lack of experience, but Yagi was so busy stealing Izuku's attention that Aizawa hadn't even gotten a chance to learn.

Of course a child would prefer All Might. Aizawa had nothing on the Number One Pro Hero, and especially not on Toshinori Yagi.

Then, somewhere along the line, it melted into warmth that Aizawa was even more reluctant to admit to. Yagi could make Izuku grin just by smiling at him or giving a thumbs up, and the way Izuku fawned over him even when he wasn't around was sweet. Yagi would give Izuku as many shoulder rides as he wanted no matter how exhausted he was, and cooked them all a meal every night, even if Aizawa preferred to eat quietly alone.

And if the sight of Yagi cooking while humming to himself brought a smile to Aizawa's lips, that was nobody's business but his own. It was just a sweet thought, a buff ego like All Might cooking for a child, but if Yagi heard anyone admit that his head would get so big he'd topple over.

Aizawa also got the opportunity to bond with Izuku during walks to and from school, as their schedule was the same, and he got the luxury of holding hands the whole time some days. It was more than enough for him.

Yagi also took care of the sad stuff. Any time Izuku was upset, Yagi was at his side immediately to make him laugh. If he was picked on, he got a pep talk. If he messed up, he got encouragement. With the exception of Izuku and Aizawa's late-night balcony talks, which were their special secret, Yagi took care of the emotional side of things. That was alright with Aizawa - Yagi was simply overall much better with heart-to-heart stuff.

Yagi was good at everything, really. Somehow, that was less obnoxious than All Might being good at everything.

.

He also took care of injuries.

Sure, Aizawa could disinfect some scrapes, and after Yagi taught him how to use sweets to judge the intensity of the wound, he was well-equipped to handle accidents. Izuku was a bit of a crybaby, but some sympathetic words and a few head pats could get him through the pain, and band-aids did wonders to make him far happier.

Still, he was no match for Yagi in this area, either.

"Toshi!"

The whine had Aizawa on high alert for half a second, but he'd learned Izuku's different cries rather quickly. Besides, he was calling for Yagi. Still, he kept an eye out when Izuku came trotting into the living room with one hand held in the other, eyes watering with his bottom lip jutting out.

Yagi peeked over the back of the couch. "Hey, kiddo," he greeted warmly, patting the cushion next to him. "Something wrong?"

"Papercut," Izuku replied, voice quivering.

Aizawa watched over the rim of his coffee mug as Yagi held his hand out expectantly. Izuku placed his injured hand inside, and Aizawa could see the offending cut: a thin, red line along the thumb muscles of his palm. Yagi rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand, cocking his head.

"A bandaid won't work on that one, kid," he admitted apologetically.

"It . . . " Izuku hesitated, staring into Yagi's eyes, and despite his lack of involvement Aizawa felt endlessly guilty. "It won't?"

Yagi shook his head. "It won't stay on that part of your hand."

When Izuku looked to Aizawa for confirmation, it was absurdly difficult to copy Yagi's nod. His eyes were just so big and hopeful, but his face fell at Aizawa's agreement, and it made him feel like an absolute villain. Izuku sniffed loudly, lower lip trembling worse than ever.

"O-Okay," he mumbled.

He was trying hard not to cry, but his words came out thick, his pout worsening. Yagi and Aizawa made eye contact, equally as helpless, and Aizawa wasn't sure if he should jump in or if that would make things worse.

"Oh!" Suddenly, Yagi was perking up again, and Aizawa cocked an eyebrow. "I've got it! I can kiss it better!"

What?

"You . . . you can do that?" Izuku sniffled, eyes wide and curious.

_You can do that?_ Aizawa silently echoed, baffled.

"Of course!" Yagi declared, taking Izuku's hand gently once more. "Kisses have magic healing powers, you know."

_What kind of nonsense -_

Silly as he always was when cheering Izuku up, Yagi hummed loudly and gruffly like an engine revving, and with a loud, "Muah!" kissed the papercut on the child's palm.

Izuku was giggling already, wiping his eyes with his free hand. Yagi made a show of inspecting the cut very closely, as if judging his work carefully, then gave Izuku a thumbs-up, grinning broadly. Izuku glanced over to Aizawa, who kept up his silent support with an identical hand gesture.

"All better! It doesn't hurt anymore, right?"

"No!" Izuku shook his head with a wide, watery smile. "You're so cool, Toshi! Is it a quirk?"

Yagi shook his head, smiling mysteriously. "Magic," he insisted. "You'll understand when you grow up big." He emphasized it by stretching his arms out wide, then lowered his voice. "It's a grown-up secret technique. We can't tell kids all our secrets, can we?"

Izuku nodded excitedly. "When I'm a grown-up, I'll keep the secret too! Promise!"

Izuku raced back to his bedroom, laughing, and Yagi settled back onto the couch and focused on the television. From his place leaning against the bar, Aizawa tightened his grip on the mug, hiding his lower face in his scarf as heat rose in his cheeks.

That was the cutest fucking thing he'd ever seen.

.

Kisses for minor cuts became a regular thing. Once or twice, Aizawa wondered if Izuku wasn't glad he got hurt by how eagerly he would ask for a magic healing kiss from the incredible All Might. Aizawa was glad he wasn't expected to do it, as too much affection was incredibly awkward for him.

He thought he was going to explode from cuteness when Izuku noticed a split knuckle from punching a thug in the mouth the night before and insisted on kissing it better. He complained until Aizawa let him, upset at the prospect of him being in pain, and the man wanted to yell to the heavens and demand to know what in the world he had done to be so blessed by such a perfect child.

Worse than that much cute was when, after a long night of fighting in which they had to request a neighbor babysit, they came home licking their own wounds.

Izuku took one look at the state Aizawa was in and proclaimed, eyes full of concern, "Toshi! Mr. Aizawa needs kisses, stat!"

Aizawa swore the world stopped turning for at least a second.

"Aha . . . hahaha!"

The laugh that issued from Yagi's throat was feeble. A glance at his face showed he was bright red, about the same hue Aizawa expected he himself was. He cleared his throat and shook his head, closing his eyes as casually as he could so he wouldn't have to look at Izuku's crestfallen face.

"I do _not_ need any kisses," he said firmly, and he prayed that would be that.

It was one thing to let a child do something so naive, and another for a grown man to do it. Another for _Yagi_ to do it. Finally, he felt comfortable living under the same roof, not even a little annoyed by him anymore. The last thing he needed was to strain their relationship once more.

"But you're hurt all over!" Izuku protested. _All over_ was overdoing it. Their first aid kit would be more than enough, however much the cuts covering his body stung.

"Right," Yagi said quickly. "There's way too many injuries, I can't kiss them all."

But Izuku stared and pouted and started to tear up, so the heroes looked helplessly at each other and tried to communicate silently. Dread rose in his stomach as Yagi hesitantly raised a hand, putting a single finger up.

"Maybe . . . just one? To make the kid feel better?"

"They're supposed to make Mr. Aizawa feel better," Izuku corrected loudly. Yagi flinched, smiling placatingly.

"Of course. You're absolutely right, kiddo."

But Yagi didn't look at Izuku as he spoke, still watching Aizawa with a question in his eyes. Aizawa wished he would stop staring so earnestly. Willing away his embarrassment, he shrugged, shifting his gaze away from the both of them.

"Whatever," Aizawa muttered. _If it makes Izuku happy,_ he thought.

It did make him happy, as it were; Izuku smiled wide and rocked on the balls of his feet, though Yagi didn't seem any more or less relieved.

"Which one should I heal?"

A mistake, one that made Aizawa bristle and Yagi cringe in on himself. There were too many injuries to choose from, so many in risky locations, some bleeding so much it'd be too messy, some painful enough that Aizawa didn't plan on letting them be touched at all. Thankfully, Izuku _hmmmed _thoughtfully for only a second before picking a shallow slice on his wrist - one that could have killed him, had that villain cut only a tiny bit deeper.

"That one," Izuku decided, pointing, then wrung his hands and stared expectantly at them both. _For Izuku, _Aizawa grumbled to himself. Hesitantly, he raised his arm, and allowed Yagi to delicately grasp his hand like it was something to be careful with. He felt Yagi pull his sleeve back gingerly, careful not to agitate any wounds.

It happened so quickly. A soft whisper, the faintest pressure against his skin like the beat of a butterfly's wings. So small, so insignificant that he might not have even noticed it, but unfortunately Aizawa was all too aware of Yagi's touch. _For Izuku, _he reminded himself sheepishly, even as his hand threatened to close into a fist and heat crawled up his neck. This was so _unnecessary! _

"There! All better, Aizawa!"

At least it was over, and Yagi could let go and Aizawa could go wrap his wounds and retire to his room to pretend none of this ever happened -

"Toshi, wait!" Izuku frowned, eyes wide and worried, and for once Aizawa wanted to scream instead of console him. "You didn't kiss his ouchie like you do mine, what if it doesn't work?"

"It'll be okay," Yagi tried, a fruitless effort, while Aizawa desperately wished he could disappear.

He had not yet released Aizawa's hand. His skin was warm. Was he just as embarrassed? Aizawa didn't exactly have a ton of blood at the moment, though, so maybe he wasn't a great comparison for temperature at the moment.

"But Toshi!"

_You've gotta be fucking kidding me._

"You heard him, Yagi," Aizawa sighed, muffling his voice in his scarves. Someday, Aizawa was certain, Izuku would know exactly how manipulative his doe eyes and quivering lip were. He was not looking forward to that day.

Yagi's fingers twitched on his hand, his eyebrows raising inquisitively. The calluses on his fingertips were rough on Aizawa's skin. It shouldn't have been so jarring. He nodded, looking from the cut and Yagi's eyes pointedly, and thankfully Yagi got the message without having it spelled out.

Aizawa couldn't look. He tried hard not to flex his fingers with Izuku watching, closing his eyes in what he hoped was a cool expression. He tried harder to tune out the silly humming noise Yagi always made and fought hard to contain the heat crawling embarrassingly higher toward his face. He tried his hardest just to not be bothered. He wanted to gnaw at his lip, hidden behind the safety of his capture weapon, but he'd split

Then Yagi's lips pressed to the cut on his arm, warm and soft and oh-so-gentle, and Aizawa could hardly contain his reaction. His eyes shot open wide, redness overtaking his face, and to hide it he hunched his shoulders and hid his face as far as he could within his scarves. His entire body tensed against his will, skin far more sensitive to Yagi's stupid touch than it had any right to be, and was that his dignity draining away or his spirit leaving his body for shame? Both?

By the time Yagi was finished and proclaiming Aizawa healed, and Izuku was satisfied enough to skitter off to his room when asked, Aizawa was ready to jet. He withdrew his arm quickly and brushed past Izuku to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as hurriedly as he could without slamming it.

He stood there for a second, willing himself to calm down. When all he could think about instead were Yagi's calloused hands, he unraveled his capture weapon, allowing it to pile on the floor, and turned on the sink to splash cold water on his face. It took several splashes before he could muster his usual apathetic scowl again, face dripping, and finally he set to work cleaning his wounds.

With a bowl of water and and a soft cloth ready, he carefully peeled off his shirt, hissing through his teeth as the fabric stubbornly clung to some drying blood and tugged at the injuries near it. _This shirt has to be trashed, _he thought grimly.

There was a knock at the door. Aizawa already knew who it had to be, but the voice still had him jumping minutely.

"You alright in there?" came Yagi's voice, muffled through the door. Aizawa shrugged despite knowing it would not be seen.

"I didn't want Izuku to see this shit." That was most of the reason, anyway. "He's still young."

"He's in his room."

"Door's unlocked."

There was very little pause between his invitation and the doorknob twisting, door swinging open to reveal exactly who was expected. It was common nowadays for Yagi and Aizawa to wrap their wounds together, and Yagi plopped down comfortably on the closed toilet lid to shirk off his shirt while Aizawa leaned against the edge of the tub, going to work rinsing the dried blood from his skin.

Somehow, being topless still left Aizawa feeling less exposed than that stupid kiss.

"Hey," Yagi spoke up as he rummaged in the cabinet for another towel. Aizawa only made a soft noise to acknowledge he was listening, unsure if he could handle eye contact at the moment. "Sorry about all that, back there. You didn't have to do it."

Aizawa offered a one-shoulder shrug. "I don't like to see him sad anymore than you do."

He could hear the smile in Yagi's tone. "It did make him really happy. Thanks for that."

Aizawa only hummed low in response. The quiet between them was surprisingly comfortable, a familiar atmosphere between battle-torn heroes. Aizawa finally remembered the soreness of his muscles and he slouched a little further than normal. He was going to sleep like a rock later, injuries be damned.

"Why do you do it?" He hadn't been thinking about it, not really, but he halted the wet towel at his wrist - at the cut that Yagi had . . .

"Do what? The magic kisses?" Yagi frowned. "Did your parents not do that sort of thing for you?"

It just felt like another reason to be embarrassed when he phrased it like that. Shaking his head and continuing to clean off caked blood, Aizawa repeated himself. "But why do it? Why lie to a child?"

"Because it makes him all better," Yagi answered matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest concept in the world.

Aizawa finished up his arms and set the rag in the bowl, staining the water red. "But it doesn't actually _do_ anything," he argued, grabbing for the bandages. "Surely when he figures it out, it'll just end up upsetting him."

"It does do something," Yagi countered. He watched as Aizawa dabbed some ointment on a few of his nastier gashes. "It makes him smile and forget he's in pain. To him, that's magic."

"And when he grows up and realizes it was all a lie?" Frustration seeped into his challenge. It just didn't sit right, the idea of lying to a naive kid. "That the only magic kisses come from quirks, and you never had one like it?"

Yagi observed quietly as Aizawa struggled to start wrapping the bandage, an uncommon problem for him. He waited and watched until Aizawa finally realized what Yagi wanted and, annoyed, he glanced up to look at that stupid soft smile and found it impossible to keep that unwaveringly friendly stare. Aizawa looked back down, chewing at the inside of his split lip with annoyance growing in his gut, but Yagi seemed satisfied with what little eye contact he got.

"Izuku believes in it, so that makes it real," Yagi told him. He held a hand out, and Aizawa reluctantly handed him the roll of bandages. "Just because it's psychological instead of physical doesn't make the effect any less potent."

Aizawa grumbled but relented. "You could have just said that at the start." He held out his arm for Yagi to start rolling the bandages around, comfortably snug, jostling his injuries as little as possible. Halfway up his bicep, Yagi snipped the length and tucked the end in. "Wish your magic kisses worked on these nastier things, though. You'd put Recovery Girl out of business."

Yagi reached for his other hand. The palm of this one was skinned a little worse than what Aizawa would call superficial, but not too terribly. Yagi brought his hand closer, eyes skimming over his flesh, then looked back up at Aizawa with a question in his eyes. Aizawa granted his permission with a shrug and averted eyes.

It was a somewhat more open wound than the last, certainly more painful, though this one had been thoroughly cleaned and was not bleeding. Without an audience, the kiss Yagi pressed to his palm was somehow sweeter, softer, and to Aizawa's surprise it did not altogether hurt much when touched. A shiver shot up his arm and along his spine nonetheless.

Yagi pulled back after a moment, thumb tracing over an untouched patch of skin. "Better?" he asked, voice low and husky in a way that brought on more shivers.

A shrug. "Don't think so."

"Ah, well," Yagi muttered, and started wrapping Aizawa's hand. "Had to try."

Aizawa could not tell if it was his hand trembling or Yagi's. The bandage wound up past his wrist. Yagi almost looked downtrodden at the denial. Feeling a bit guilty, Aizawa mused aloud, "You could try again."

Yagi raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" The smile brought to his face lit up the atmosphere like nothing else ever could, bringing warmth with it. "What would be the purpose?"

Aizawa cocked his head, the smallest inklings of a mischievous expression forming as he tapped his temple. "Maybe I stopped you from using it, so I could make a fool out of you."

Yagi seemed nothing but pleased by the invitation. His eyes roamed the bruised and bloodied expanse of skin that was Aizawa's arm and, after a moment, kissed a tiny cut no worse than a cat scratch on his forearm.

An amused curl of the lips. "Erased again?"

Eyebrows raised ever so slightly, a playful lilt in his voice. "If I tell you, that takes all the fun out of it."

Fingers careful to maneuver around each laceration, Yagi would pick an injury, typically rather small, to bless with a tender brush of his lips. Each kiss had a pink flush strengthening on Aizawa's cheeks - _what a silly thing to be so flustered over, _kisses - but a glance at Yagi's red ears showed he was in the same boat. Each kiss was followed by another wrap of the bandages, until this arm was neatly tied off at the top as well.

Yagi did not release Aizawa's hand, and Aizawa did not complain. Rather, he was more soothed than anything by the way Yagi ran his thumb over his knuckles.

"Shame," Yagi sighed. "I failed to heal all of them."

Heart skipping a beat in his chest from his own boldness, Aizawa said, "Not all. There's one more."

Yagi's gaze fell on his split lip. The movement of his thumb halted, and he stared long enough that Aizawa wanted to squirm under his stare. Of course, he had far better restraint than that. With no move from Yagi, Aizawa scooted closer, and Yagi let out a sharp exhale.

"Will you let it work this time?" he asked.

Yagi stood and braced his hands on the lip of the tub, arms on either side of Aizawa, caging him in. Aizawa kept still, taking in the leisurely method Yagi took in approaching, the way he gave Aizawa plenty of time to back out if he wanted, but Aizawa didn't want to back out in the slightest. Yagi's face loomed closer and he rested their foreheads together.

"You'll have to wait and see," Aizawa whispered.

He thought Yagi's lips had been soft against his skin, but he was nowhere near prepared for how lovely they felt against his own. His eyes slid shut easily, and he obeyed without complaint when a light touch under his chin guided him to tilt his head back further. It was only one kiss, an incredibly sweet one, and when Yagi moved to pull back Aizawa found himself chasing the other man's lips.

"Better?" Yagi breathed. His eyes were brilliant blue. Had Aizawa ever noticed that before? Had he ever bothered to look?

"Hm . . . "

Aizawa still didn't bother opening his eyes all the way, his half-lidded gaze and parted lips making Yagi, a weak man, an easy victim to reach forward and trace his finger along the split bottom lip.

Well . . . " Aizawa drew the word out in a pondering lilt, and flicked his tongue out to catch on Yagi's thumb. Yagi's face seemed to suddenly bloom with red hues, but he did not back off. "I _may_ have felt something. Maybe. We'd have to try a few more times to be sure."

A short chuckle answered him, and Yagi moved close once more. "I think we can do that."


	2. Chapter 2

**They adopt another kid and resolve some tension.**

.

When it came out that All Might and Eraser Head had adopted a child together, the media went wild.

When Aizawa would tug Izuku close against his side and hide their faces, the papers would whine about his overprotectiveness. When All Might rejected the press and flew off with Izuku at the first glimpse of a camera, the symbol of peace was accused of growing standoffish and ungrateful. Yet no matter how hard they tried to keep Izuku from the flashing cameras and microphones in his face, pictures of Aizawa walking him to school and All Might carrying the kid on his shoulders still surfaced.

From those pictures, rumors arose, as they always do.

Accusations of abuse, all because Izuku was a klutz prone to bruising. Speculations of the pro heroes dating, as well as the constant push-and-pull of whether they were happy together or fighting. Controversy as to whether it was too dangerous for heroes to adopt children, then even more controversy because they were both men.

What year was it? 1900?

They were absurd, most of them. They grasped at straws to find problems where there were none, frustrated at the lack of publicity they allowed. It felt like the family could go nowhere without being assaulted by reporters, microphones and cameras shoved in their faces. Toshinori could not risk going out with either of them in his civilian form anymore, or there would be even more controversy.

So when Toshinori brought up the possibility of adopting another child, Aizawa stared at him like he had grown another head.

"You're kidding, right?" Toshinori winced, and Aizawa felt a small tendril of guilt curl in his gut. "Do you want _more _publicity?"

"Izuku is having a hard time making friends at school," Toshinori replied carefully, voice low as Izuku sent little toy cars zooming along a track on the floor nearby. "Probably because of us."

"You want another kid for his sake?" For all that Aizawa's tone was skeptical, he was transparent to Toshinori, and had a hard time disagreeing. With luck, a sibling could become a guaranteed friend, and goodness knew Izuku could use one.

"It'd be good for us, too," Toshinori pointed out. "They can entertain each other, and we can have time to ourselves."

Aizawa allowed himself a snort, a rare smile curling his lips. "You wait on him hand and foot," he teased. "What would you even do with free time?"

The way Toshinori eyed him, gaze sweeping over his relaxed form, was predictable, but nonetheless had Aizawa's skin tingling.

"I can think of a few things," Toshinori replied, tone light.

Unsure of where to take that line of thought next, Aizawa lowered his gaze and sipped at his coffee. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Past that first night, after hesitantly parting ways and going to bed before things got heated, Aizawa had found that in some ways, they were even more comfortable with each other than before. Sometime afterward, the flirting had started; innocent quips, sly remarks, sometimes even inappropriate innuendos that had Aizawa rolling his eyes so hard he expected them to get stuck. It was absurd, how suddenly smooth Toshinori was at times, and how absurd he could be at others.

But it never went further than that. Toshinori was unexpectedly shy past his bold words, and Aizawa was fine with telling himself until the end of time that he was content with what they already had. If Toshinori was uncertain, then Aizawa was not about to push the matter, especially not when he himself was unsure of what he even wanted. He was not an assertive person in these kinds of situations.

"Are we serious about this?" Toshinori asked after a pause.

Were they? "I'm not opposed to the idea," Aizawa answered carefully, "as long as you aren't."

Toshinori huffed. "Yeah, leave all the tough choices to me," he grumbled lightheartedly. "Thanks."

"It was your idea," Aizawa pointed out, taking another sip of coffee. It was cooling rapidly. Standing, he finally raised his voice and said, "We should see what Izuku thinks," before heading into the kitchen.

"What I think of what?"

As he put his mug in the microwave, Aizawa heard Toshinori explain, "We've been talking about getting you a brother or sister. How do you feel about that?"

A soft feeling blossomed in Aizawa's chest as he listened to Izuku's following outburst of excitement, followed by the telltale clatter of toys being dropped on the floor and Toshinori's chuckle as Izuku clambered onto his lap. Aizawa removed his steaming coffee from the microwave and leaned against the bar, draining his mug and watching Toshinori ruffle Izuku's hair.

They were always so cute to watch. Izuku brought out a childlike joy in Toshinori that the man likely had not felt in years, and Toshinori was such a great father figure to him, great enough that Izuku had taken to calling him such sometimes. Of course, Aizawa was still Aizawa. He told himself that was enough.

Sometimes it felt like he was an outsider looking in. Where did he fall in their dynamic? They were so close-knit, and while they never pointedly excluded Aizawa, he never felt included, either.

"I want one that's the same age as me," Izuku was blabbering, bouncing excitedly. "And we can go to the same school and the same room and play together during recess!" Toshinori simply let him talk, nodding enthusiastically. "And we'll come home and I'll show them my toys and they can always choose their favorite ones when we play together!"

"Would you prefer a brother or sister?" Aizawa piped in from the kitchen, and Izuku swung his head around to beam at him.

"I don't care what they are," he replied brightly, "as long as we can be best friends!"

.

It was settled. Seeing as they had already adopted one child, getting everything in order to adopt another was a breeze. They filled in the questionnaire with their only requirement being that the child be Izuku's age, set up another set of furniture in the room, and after that, all that was left to do was wait.

Little Hitoshi Shinsou was brought home within two months with zero notice to the media.

He was a quiet child, polite, and took Izuku's excitement in stride when Aizawa brought him home. He had not quite met Izuku's levels of enthusiasm, but did not seem bothered by the way he tugged him into their now shared bedroom. Hitoshi took to their household nicely, and the follow-up visits by the caseworker were uneventful.

They knew little of Hitoshi's past, only that he had been abandoned at a shelter and that this was his second time being taken in. He seemed generally pleased in his new home, however, and the transition was quite smooth.

It shocked Aizawa how much of a non-event the adoption really was, but they were all happy, and that was all that mattered.

.

True to their predictions, Aizawa and Toshinori were left with more free time than they knew what to do with. Not only were they left with a relatively quiet apartment as the boys played in their room often, but now that Izuku had a friend, they both showed interest in after-school activities. Now, twice a week, Aizawa found himself walking home alone.

Toshinori usually dropped in to take their place, avoiding patrol to keep Aizawa company. They would enjoy a cup of tea together, typically in silence, and when the time came to get the children Toshinori would vanish once more with an awkward wave goodbye and Aizawa would be alone once more to collect the kids.

Toshinori had not flirted with him since they got Hitoshi. Then again, had Aizawa any right to complain when he had not initiated anything, either? It was time for him to try.

The opportunity came in the form of an invitation to a birthday party and sleepover, one both boys were excited to attend. It was more than a little nerve-wracking - they'd never had Izuku anywhere but home for bedtime, and Hitoshi was still very new - but he knew this was the sort of thing they would be doing more as they grew, so both Aizawa and Toshinori granted them permission to go.

As Toshinori dropped them off, Aizawa prepared tea. It was now or never.

When Toshinori arrived home once more, he padded quietly into the kitchen and smiled at the sight of Aizawa offering a mug to him. When he reached out to grasp it, however, Aizawa yanked it back. Toshinori paused and glanced at Aizawa to see him frowning.

"We have to stop dancing around this," Aizawa said briskly, every word feeling like he had to drag it out. Slowly, he offered Toshinori the mug once more, who accepted it carefully.

"I suppose I can't play dumb," Toshinori joked, smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"No, you can't."

"Just saying, but I can do the Macarena for a long time."

Aizawa snorted, relaxing minutely, and that brought a more genuine smile to Toshinori's face. "Someday, I'll time you. For now, I want to know why you've been avoiding me."

Toshinori covered a wince by bringing his drink to his lips. He was hesitant, and some part of Aizawa was already guiltily backing down. Had he made Toshinori uncomfortable? Was he avoiding him out of discomfort? Disinterest? He had no right to corner him if there was no interest involved.

"I don't mean to coerce you," Aizawa continued carefully. He mirrored how Toshinori sipped his tea, the warm, herbal flavor calming him somewhat. "It's just that after some things that have been said . . . "

"You want to know where we stand," Toshinori finished, finally speaking up, and Aizawa nodded. "I understand."

They stood in silence for a long moment, each mustering the courage to speak.

"If you're not comfortable - "

"I thought - "

It took a few seconds of them both gesturing awkwardly for the other continue before Toshinori finally relented.

"I don't know," he sighed. He pushed his long fingers through his hair. "That night - that was real, right? I don't really doubt that. But I just . . . "

"You don't have to do anything if you're not comfortable," Aizawa said quickly, but Toshinori shook his head.

"That's not it." He peered down at his tea. "Just . . . we're both grown men, but you're still so _young. _Flirting is one thing, but I can't help but wonder if you wouldn't be more interested in someone your own age."

Aizawa had to snort at that, amused. "My age? Like who?"

"You have plenty of coworkers you get along with," Toshinori insisted. "Yamada, Kayama, other heroes that aren't me."

Aizawa studied him for a moment, taking in the hunched shoulders and tired eyes. He looked so nervous. Aizawa scoffed then, rolling his eyes and setting his mug on the counter.

"You're telling me you're avoiding me because you think you're - what? A cougar? Or whatever the male equivalent is?"

Toshinori's ears turned bright red, his cheeks quickly following, and Aizawa could not help his chuckle. He eased Toshinori's cup from his hands and set it next to his own on the marble surface and, when Toshinori still refused to look up, tapped an impatient finger under his chin.

"Well, when you put it like that . . . "

"You're not even that old," Aizawa interrupted. He shifted closer and reached up to thread his fingers through pretty golden locks, and their gazes finally properly met. "What, mid thirties at most? I doubt you've even found any gray hairs."

"You'd be surprised," Toshinori chuckled, and Aizawa rolled his eyes.

"Then you'd be a silver fox, which is good," he said simply.

Toshinori paused, eyes flickering between Aizawa's eyes and lips. They were close enough to feel one another's breath on their face, and slowly Toshinori came to rest a hand on the small of Aizawa's back. They stood there a moment before Aizawa scoffed impatiently, breaking the silence, and brought his free hand up to rest against the nape of Toshinori's neck.

"Do I have to bust my lip again or something? Kiss me already."

That was apparently what Toshinori needed to hear. His lips were soft, gentle like Aizawa remembered. He was not satisfied being treated so nicely, however, and after separating for a slow moment, he tugged Toshinori into a far fiercer kiss. Toshinori's free hand came up to tangle in Aizawa's hair, tugging pleasantly, and Aizawa hummed at the light tingle that went down his spine.

Pulling free once more, Toshinori asked quietly, "What does this make us?"

Aizawa scoffed softly, moving both his hands to cup Toshinori's cheeks. "Whatever we are, I don't like sharing," he said, tracing a thumb gently over one sharp cheekbone, "so you'd better choose fast."

Toshinori laughed at that, resting his forehead against Aizawa's. "Glad we agree on that."

Rolling his eyes, Aizawa answered by reaching up to steal another kiss.

.

After that night's events, they slept in late enough they were nearly late in picking up the boys. Ah, well. Children are forgiving.


	3. Chapter 3

**Aizawa figures out this whole parenting thing, and Hitoshi comes to terms with his newly-discovered Quirk. **

.

Months turned to a year, then two and three. The media rampage calmed somewhat as the luster of two pro heroes having a child together wore off, though slice of life images always sold, regardless of the lacking drama. While the small family could finally visit parks and such freely, there was still a camera snapping somewhere.

Fortunately, they focused little on Aizawa, of which he was grateful for. All Might and Izuku took up the spotlight; not Toshinori, but All Might, swinging his children around jovially, tossing Izuku in the air easily despite his age, Izuku riding his shoulders pretty much everywhere he went. All Might spoiled Izuku, and in turn, the media had collectively decided that Izuku was primarily his child.

Aizawa had to be honest with himself - it stung. He cared just as much for Izuku. But it was alright; for every bit that Izuku was Toshinori's child, Hitoshi was Aizawa's.

At first, they had assumed Hitoshi was shy, but it seemed he simply only spoke when he felt there was something important to say. He was quiet, though he definitely spoke more often when alone with Aizawa. Hitoshi learned quickly, adopting new words and mannerisms he learned from Aizawa into daily life, and at times Toshinori swore he was Aizawa's biological son.

"He's even adopted some of your cynicism," Toshinori joked one day, fingers curling pleasantly in Aizawa's hair. Sunlight filtered into the bedroom through the curtains, so Aizawa curled up against Toshinori's chest to hide from it. "Make sure to watch it on the swears."

"You mean you don't want an eight year old running around spouting 'fuck' every other word?" Aizawa feigned surprise. Toshinori's fingers tightened teasingly in his hair, and he sighed softly in response. "When have you ever heard me curse?"

Toshinori snorted. "Plenty." Relenting, he added, "But you've been good with them so far."

A pause. Warmth spread through Aizawa's chest at the praise, and he hid his face as he felt it heat up. It was a rare insecurity, sure, but it was still there, the nagging wonder if he was doing things right. It was a fear every parent had, surely, that they were doing everything wrong. For Toshinori, someone who was exceptional with children, to tell him he was doing well was equivalent to a sign from the heavens.

"So far," Aizawa agreed.

.

Hitoshi often had trouble sleeping. Unlike Izuku, who found peace in the quiet of night, Hitoshi loathed when he could not sleep. He was too young for any kind of sleep aid, so instead, Aizawa spent most nights curled up with Hitoshi on the couch, some cartoon on low volume on the television. Some nights they talked, and some nights they simply watched whatever was on.

Every night, Hitoshi passed out on Aizawa's lap, snoring softly within the hour, and Aizawa would carefully deliver him to bed before crawling into his own. At first, Toshinori would wake at the intrusion, but nowadays Aizawa could slip into bed with little fuss.

Tonight, however, Hitoshi was particularly restless.

Aizawa glanced at the clock as it passed over midnight, fingers carding idly through Hitoshi's messy locks. Usually, he would have been asleep by now, but Hitoshi did not even look sleepy.

"Alright," Aizawa finally spoke up when a few more silent minutes had passed, "what's on your mind?"

Hitoshi hunched his shoulders and rolled over to bury his face in Aizawa's leg. Aizawa huffed out a short chuckle, tousling his hair, then prodded at an exposed side. Hitoshi jerked, a laugh bubbling from his chest. He was laying on his back now, hands curled protectively over his sides and a determined pout on his face as he glared up at Aizawa.

"Are you gonna talk to me, or do I have to tickle you again?"

"Don't!" Hitoshi blurted quickly, cringing away as Aizawa raised his hands in a mock threat. He sat up, rubbing blearily at his eyes. He finally looked back up at Aizawa and hesitated before speaking again. "I'm just . . . can a Quirk show up late?"

When they had first gotten Hitoshi, the case worker had let them know that, while everything checked out at the doctor's office, he had not yet presented his Quirk, and probably never would. They knew nothing about his parents, so for the very small window of time left where Hitoshi could realistically develop his Quirk, Toshinori stressed over how to proof the house until then.

It was hardly a big deal when nothing wound up happening; Izuku was confirmed to be Quirkless, so he was elated. It was perhaps a tad insensitive, but it just meant the boys had something in common. After three years, Hitoshi and Izuku both seemed alright with their fate, if a little downtrodden.

"Not late," Aizawa answered thoughtfully, "but if you have an invisible Quirk, like mine, it's easy to not notice it for a long time. Did something happen?"

Hitoshi had relaxed minutely with his reply, but he still wrung his hands nervously in his lap. Knowing he should be patient, Aizawa sat back, quietly waiting for him to speak. When he did, it was without meeting Aizawa's eyes.

"You know how kids are to me and Izuku," Hitoshi started. "They aren't really nice to people without Quirks."

"You know you can always come to us if there's a problem," Aizawa cut in quickly, but Hitoshi shook his head.

"It's not about that," he said. He kept playing with his fingers while he chose his words. "I went to the bathroom during class. When I went to leave, some kid stopped me at the door. I don't really care about the insults anymore, but we only get ten minutes with the hall pass unless we're really sick, and he was going to hold me back and get me in trouble. So I told him to move.

"He didn't. They never do." He clenched his hands into little fists, and Aizawa automatically reached out to uncurl them before he did any damage. Hitoshi latched onto his hands instead. "And I just kept thinking, why don't they ever listen? I'm not asking anything crazy. Just stop being rude." He took a deep breath. "So I asked him why he's so rude, and he started to say something, and then he . . . he just stopped."

"He stopped?" Aizawa repeated curiously. Hitoshi nodded.

"He stopped. Like, _everything _stopped. He wasn't smiling anymore. He didn't look mad, either. I told him to just move and he did, and then he didn't do anything else. I waved my hand in front of his face and he didn't even blink. He didn't move until I punched him, and then it was like nothing happened."

"You _punched _him?"

"Just on the arm," Hitoshi said defensively, squeezing Aizawa's fingers anxiously. "I don't think he even knew I did it. He just looked confused."

"Nothing happened afterward?"

"No. I just went back to class and everything was normal."

Aizawa tilted his head, thumbs running idly over Hitoshi's knuckles in what he hoped was a soothing motion. It would take time to process this information. They would have to tell Toshinori in the morning, and Izuku would need to know, too. Would Izuku be upset to find out they no longer had that in common? How would teachers and classmates react?

"What do you think it is? Some kind of mind control? It just seems . . . bad."

Aizawa blinked, focusing finally to see the troubled look Hitoshi was giving him, anxiously worrying at his lower lip. Shrugging, Aizawa reached up to tousle Hitoshi's already messy hair. "Whatever it is," he said, "let's just be happy you have a Quirk."

Hitoshi finally broke into a small smile, leaning into the hand on his head. "Yeah. I have a Quirk. An invisible one, like yours!"

"Like mine," Aizawa agreed, matching his smile. The way Hitoshi said it like it was something to be proud of made his heart softer than he would ever admit. "Now, let's try to actually get some sleep."

.

"I'm worried about him."

Izuku had been downtrodden for all of ten seconds when they broke the news. Afterward, he had been so excited he insisted Hitoshi try to use his Quirk on him, which led to a lot of exuberant speculation on how to make it work.

On one hand, Aizawa was thoroughly impressed at how quickly they figured it out. On the other, seeing his usually loud and bright Izuku turn silent and dead-looking was just short of panic-inducing. Thankfully, all it took was a few taps on the cheek to bring him back, and then he was excitedly writing up a list on what kinds of things to test out next time.

Toshinori was not so enthusiastic.

"Yeah?" Aizawa hummed.

All Might had decided to walk the boys to school with him that morning, and it was made very clear it was because he wanted to talk. Aizawa was unsure as to whether he should be on guard. He knew what Toshinori was implying before he said it, but he hoped anyway that the topic would not come up. Of course, it did, the moment the kids were inside the school building.

"He's going to be punished just as much for that Quirk as he was for not having one."

Aizawa knew he was right. "Kids are assholes like that. He'll be fine."

"Will he?"

Aizawa paused, staring up at Toshinori, whose jaw was set and brow drawn low over his eyes. It was an unfamiliar look on his muscled form, one Aizawa did not like. "What are you implying?"

Toshinori sighed. "His Quirk isn't exactly . . . you know. Heroic." Aizawa found himself bristling in Hitoshi's defense, but Toshinori continued. _"We _know he's a good kid, but what about them? If people keep expecting him to be bad - "

He cut himself off, but Aizawa knew what he was going to say. _What if he grows to meet their expectations?_

"Then we'll just have to combat their hostility with positivity," Aizawa said with a shrug. He would be lying if he said he did not have his own concerns, but what Toshinori needed was reassurance. "I would have made a great villain, you know. I went through the same thing as a child."

"You were bullied?"

"Well, not for long. They got pretty scared of me." Aizawa still remembered the first kid that recoiled from his tired, dead stare, and he smiled at the thought. "Hitoshi will prove himself just like I did. Whether he goes on to lead a normal life, or even if he shoots for heroism, he'll show he's just as good as anyone else."

They rounded the corner, Aizawa's school now in sight. He expected Toshinori to part ways by then, but instead he reached down for Aizawa's hand. It was a surprising display of affection for public but he complied anyway. All Might's massive hand dwarfed his own even more than Toshinori's.

They paused before the school gates, just out of sight of the children filtering inside. Toshinori squeezed his hand and turned to face him. Aizawa stared up at him inquisitively, even taller than he was used to. Toshinori rested a gentle finger under his chin, a question in his eyes.

"Someone's feeling affectionate today," Aizawa muttered under his breath, leaning up to kiss him. Toshinori may have looked different in his muscle form, but his kisses were the same, soft and full of warmth. They pulled back, and Aizawa held his gaze. "He's going to be fine."

Toshinori nodded, stealing another kiss. "I believe you," he replied honestly, and they went their separate ways.

.

Hitoshi was quiet.

The first week went fine. He and Izuku spent all their free time supervised by Aizawa as they figured out the mechanisms of his Quirk, and what he could and could not do with it. Aizawa was rather pleased by how well Izuku took the news, and was now seeing a whole new side of him - Quirkless though he was, he could already see that Izuku would have a great future ahead of him as a specialist of some kind.

The next week, however, was messier. Aizawa had to go into school with them and change his paperwork, informing them of the discovery.

"Like, brainwashing?" the clerk had asked, skeptical.

"If you're smart," Aizawa had growled, grateful that Hitoshi was not present, "you'll be more tactful about what you put on that form."

No matter what he said, though, it seemed that same hesitance moved all the way down the line, from the office to the teachers to the students. Aizawa could hope the children would not be cruel, but when he got a call that first Tuesday from Hitoshi's teacher, saying the boys wanted to be picked up early from their after-school activity, his hopes were dashed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hitoshi's fingers tightened around Aizawa's, squeezing hard. "No."

"They're just being stupid like always," Izuku piped up from Aizawa's other side.

"I know," Hitoshi snapped, more venom in his voice than Aizawa had ever heard before, and Izuku winced. "It still sucks."

Aizawa's chest ached at the hurt in his words, all too familiar. "Did the teachers do anything?"

Hitoshi was quiet, so Izuku spoke for him. "They try to help," he said, downcast, "but they're always late. They can't get in trouble until they say bad things, so . . . "

There was nothing Aizawa could really do for them in that case, then. He gave both their hands a gentle squeeze, hoping it helped something. He hated this, hated the thought that his kids were getting hurt, hated that Hitoshi was struggling over something that should be good news. How many more times during his parenting career would he face this kind of frustration?

"I hate them," Hitoshi muttered. He let out a frustrated growl, clenching his little fists, and shouted into the quiet neighborhood air. "I hate them!"

"Hey," Aizawa interrupted, as soothingly as he could muster. He released Hitoshi's hand to tug him to his side instead, hand resting on his shoulder. "That's enough."

"They're just so _horrible," _Hitoshi ground out, words dangerously wobbly, and Aizawa rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

"I know," he replied. Izuku pressed close to him as well. It was difficult to walk without jostling them too much, but Aizawa was not about to push them away. "Some people are the worst, but you can't stoop to their level."

"They deserve it," Hitoshi grumbled.

"Maybe they do," Aizawa agreed. "But if we deliver what they deserve, that reflects on our character, not theirs." Memories of villain after villain flashed through his mind, so many he could not settle on a single example. "You have no idea how many people I've met that made me think, 'the world would be better if they weren't in it.'

"But that's where the difference between us comes in. They hurt people without a second thought, but it isn't up to me to hurt them back. That's what being a hero is about. No matter how angry I am, I know it isn't my place to pass judgment."

"I'm not a hero," Hitoshi muttered, eyes on the ground. Aizawa scoffed, rolling his eyes, and raised his voice to a playful scold.

"Yeah, but _I _am," he retorted, tousling Hitoshi's hair roughly. "So I'd better not catch you being anything less, you hear me?"

"Okay," Hitoshi relented. He did not sound convinced.

.

_"It's official, folks: Eraser Head and All Might are confirmed to be dating! See the photographic evidence from one of our faithful viewers - "_

Aizawa rolled his eyes as they passed the shop window. Why did electronic stores always have to show the news on their televisions? He was surrounded by his shame now. Publicity never brought anything good; now every person on the street was a potential threat, someone who would recognize him and rush to crowd him and his children for who-knows-what.

It had been a few weeks since their talk, and while Hitoshi rarely complained of the torment, Izuku was very transparent about the goings-on of their school days. Things were not worse, but they were not better, either. All Toshinori and Aizawa could really do was keep them as happy as they could at home.

"Eraser Head!"

Speak of the devil -

"Shit," Aizawa hissed.

"Language," Izuku piped up, and then let out a shocked squeak as Aizawa quickened his pace.

Loud footfalls came from behind them, someone obviously trying hard to catch up to them. "Hey, Eraser Head! Wait a sec!"

Aizawa, absolutely not prepared to deal with a fan and definitely not about to risk his kids going on camera, quickly ushered them onto a side street, then into an alleyway. It was not the direction they were supposed to be headed, but Aizawa would deal with tired whining on the way home before he went anywhere near a flashing camera.

They all pressed against the wall of a building, and Aizawa stared at the mouth of the alley, hoping their pursuer had not seen them go in. After a few beats of silence and Izuku fidgeting anxiously, he relaxed and moved to poke his head out into the street.

"You're really predictable, you know."

The voice came from behind him. Aizawa whirled around, hand on his capture cloth, and he ushered the boys behind him. At the other end of the alleyway stood a figure clad in a simple hoodie and jeans. As they moved closer, Aizawa could see he was young - probably barely breaking his twenties - and was that a tail trailing behind him?

"The elusive Eraser Head, always running from the press," the stranger continued. "Still, it was surprisingly easy to chase you somewhere secluded."

"Get to the point," Aizawa snapped. Eyes never leaving his pursuer, he quickly pulled his goggles from around his neck to over his eyes. The stranger cocked his head.

"Call me Tokage," he said, tone light. Aizawa took a few steps forward, increasing the distance between himself and his kids so he could stop the stranger before he got close to them. "Though you won't know it for long."

And then he vanished.

Aizawa realized quickly that he was not totally invisible, but blending in with whatever was behind him. It felt nigh impossible to keep his eyes on Tokage long enough to activate his Quirk. He kept losing sight of his foe, and for a heart-stopping moment, Aizawa realized he was nowhere to be seen.

Then Izuku yelped behind him, and Aizawa felt his goggles being yanked from his face. He swung around, his elbow ramming into something invisible but solid, but Tokage took it in stride, goggles in hand as he danced away. He rematerialized several feet away, grinning ear to ear. In a flash he was throwing the eyewear onto the ground and stomping on it, snapping them in half.

"You can't hide from me anymore," he purred.

"Like that matters," Aizawa shot back, activating his quirk.

Tokage seemed to expect it, instead rushing forward to throw a punch. Aizawa found his capture cloth was more of a hindrance than helpful in such close quarters, forcing him to rely on physical skill only to stop the punches and kicks aimed at him.

He grasped both of his assailant's wrists in the tightest grip he could muster. Tokage only smiled at him, though, and Aizawa only had a heartbeat to spot the tail he had seen earlier shooting for his legs. Knocked off balance, Aizawa had to release one of his wrists to catch himself, and in just a second Tokage was standing over him with something small in his free hand. Some kind of spray - ?

"Nice try, Eraser," he teased lightly. "But this is where it ends."

Aizawa did not close his eyes in his time.

His world was on fire, a scream tearing from his throat that would have shamed him if not for the intense burn behind his eyelids. He found himself releasing Tokage's wrist, rolling over on all fours and rubbing furiously at his eyes. It was a dirty trick, but effective nonetheless, and Aizawa blinked furiously against the burn, breath coming out in coughs as he breathed in some of the spray.

A shout from Hitoshi and a shriek from Izuku had Aizawa's head snapping up, tears streaming down his cheeks as he searched desperately for his children through heavily blurred vision. Izuku was dangling from an invisible hand, legs kicking every which way, his fingers grasping at the collar of his shirt as it tried to choke him out. Hitoshi was frozen in place, eyes flitting between Izuku and Aizawa.

"Imagine how heartbroken All Might will be," Tokage hummed. "Well, it's been fun."

"Why are you doing this?!"

Hitoshi was trembling from head to toe, his voice cracking loudly, but he twisted his fingers in the hem of his shirt and stood tall anyway. Tokage shimmered into view, an ironically amiable smile on his features as he leaned down to be face-to-face with Hitoshi.

"Because I want All Might to suffer," he answered brightly.

And then his smile fell.

"Put him down," Hitoshi mumbled.

And Tokage did.

The moment Izuku's feet touched the ground, his legs crumpled beneath him and he started to wail. Throat and eyes still burning, Aizawa dragged himself over to his side, gathering Izuku in his arms and rubbing his back as he sobbed. He watched blearily as Hitoshi approached the villain slowly, hands clenched into fists and a hard glare forming on his features.

"I could make you do whatever I want," he whispered, and Aizawa's blood ran cold.

"Hitoshi," he croaked, but it was too quiet, too close to a cough to be acknowledged.

"I could make you hurt," Hitoshi continued, voice rising in volume. "I could make you smash your head against the wall until you bleed, or - or climb a building and jump off - I could make you pay for _hurting my family - "_

_What if he grows to meet their expectations? _

Hitoshi paused, breathing hard, and rubbed an arm against his eyes. He looked over at Izuku and Aizawa, at the fear Aizawa did not have the strength to wipe off his features, and shook his head hard.

"You're going to stay put and let my dad tie you up," Hitoshi said, voice wavering as his anger visibly faded. "And then the cops are going to take you away for a long time."

And then he tottered over to Aizawa on shaky legs, threw himself into his arms, and started to cry.

"Dad," he blubbered, back to being a terrified grade schooler, and Aizawa held him tight as he went limp. "I was so scared - !"

Heart aching, the tears running down his face a mixture of pain and relief, Aizawa whispered back despite his protesting throat. "I'm so proud of you."

Hitoshi cried harder.

It took a few minutes for Aizawa to gather the coordination to stand, quickly wrapping Tokage up in his capture cloth and fumbling for his cell phone. Knowing emergency response was garbage - there was a reason heroes were always on the scene before cops - he texted Toshinori instead, sending their location and telling him to bring law enforcement. They would come faster with All Might.

.

When Toshinori arrived, he took one look at Aizawa leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, at their kids huddled against him, at the tear tracks on their faces and at the villain standing still in his bindings, and clenched his fists. Before he realized what he was doing, his legs carried him forward. With a gutteral growl, he reached his fist back and swung it hard into the man's face.

Hitoshi raised his head from Aizawa's chest, looking remarkably exhausted, and Aizawa followed suit, blinking blearily. His eyes were notably redder than usual.

"Wait," Hitoshi started, struggling into alertness. "All Might! Don't!"

Toshinori paused, towering over the motionless form on the ground. "Hitoshi?

Hitoshi looked between them hurriedly, then relaxed minutely. "I was holding him there, but . . . " Hitoshi rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly. "I guess you knocked him out. But you shouldn't hit him. That's what he would do."

Toshinori paused, guilt coursing through his system. He forced his tense muscles to relax, and crouched down to Hitoshi's level. "You're right," he conceded, ruffling his hair gently. "I got angry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Hitoshi replied uncertainly, surprised at the apology.

They both walked back to where Aizawa and Izuku were sitting just as a squad of policemen rounded the corner into the alleyway. At their arrival, Aizawa tugged at the capture cloth, releasing the unconscious man and allowing him to be loaded into a cruiser. Toshinori dropped to one knee so Izuku could hug him instead, bawling all over again.

"Hey," was all he knew how to say. Guilt ran cold in his blood, freshly renewed at the sight of his partner, disheveled and exhausted. _If I had been here - _

"Hey," Aizawa snorted quietly, interrupting his thoughts. His eyes slid closed again as he teased, "Took you long enough."

"You okay?"

Aizawa hummed, grimacing slightly before his expression smoothed out again. "Maced. Gonna need to rinse my eyes out when we get home."

Toshinori hissed softly. His eyes stung in phantom sympathy. "I'll carry you," he offered.

Aizawa did not turn him down.

.

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

Hitoshi wrung his hands nervously. "I wanna be a hero when I grow up."

Aizawa smiled, reaching out to ruffle his hair fondly. "Good choice."


	4. Chapter 4

**Toshinori has his secrets. In the meantime, a foe becomes family.**

.

When the name "Bakugo" first came up in their household, it was through gritted teeth and a clenched fist just a week into sixth grade.

"She sounds like a menace," Toshinori muttered, his chin resting atop Aizawa's head. He shook him off with an annoyed grunt, padding over to wrap an arm around Izuku's shoulders.

"Have you told the teachers?"

"No matter what they do, she keeps going!"

Hitoshi was fuming, pacing a track in the floor. In contrast, Izuku sat quietly at the table, eyes fixed unseeingly on a singed piece of paper before him. Aizawa could see traces of a drawing of All Might in the spaces that were not burned.

"She won't listen to me either, and she has the nerve to call him names - "

"Names?"

"Deku," Izuku piped up, and Aizawa's heart clenched a little. "I mean, I'm Quirkless, so she's not wrong."

"She is wrong," Toshinori said sharply, and Aizawa raised his brows, surprised at his volume. It seemed the words struck a chord with him. "Someone that hurts people with their Quirk isn't any more useful than someone without a Quirk."

Izuku nodded once, paused, and then nodded again more vigorously. "Yeah. Yeah! I'm gonna show her! I'm gonna study hard and become a better hero than them all!"

Toshinori nodded encouragingly with him, and Hitoshi seemed somewhat calmed by the conversation. He plopped down at the table next to Izuku and finally pulled out his homework from his backpack. Aizawa straightened up and headed for the hallway, gesturing for Toshinori to follow him, and they closed the bedroom door behind them.

"Punishment isn't stopping it, huh?" Aizawa mused quietly, crossing his arms. "Should we go in and do something about it?"

"Do you think it'll do anything?" Toshinori countered doubtfully. He leaned against the door with a heavy sigh and shrugged. "I know that type. I'm sure you do, too. If this Bakugo is that much of a nightmare, I doubt getting the family involved will do any good."

"Could we transfer them?" Toshinori snorted.

"Unless you suddenly learn how to control your road rage - "

"Shut up," Aizawa interrupted immediately. "I get it."

Toshinori chuckled before his smile faded once more. "Even if we could, he'd just have a new bully wherever he went. Kids are cruel." He sighed again. "At this point, he just needs to toughen up and stop letting people walk all over him. He wants to be a hero, after all. He'll be alright."

Aizawa frowned at that, eyes narrowing. "About that," he said, and then hesitated, unsure of how to say what he was thinking without being rude. "When are you going to stop getting his hopes up?"

Toshinori's gaze shifted to somewhere over Aizawa's shoulder, and no matter how hard he tried to make eye contact, Aizawa could not get his attention again. Frustrated, he huffed, reaching for the door handle, but Toshinori grasped his wrist before he could leave. Aizawa glanced back up at him to snap something irate, but stopped at the burning look in his eyes.

"He _will_ become a hero, Shouta."

It was rare Toshinori used his first name. The sound of it had goosebumps raising on his arms, wrist suddenly feeling incredibly warm where Toshinori was touching him.

"You really believe that, huh?"

Toshinori was silent, but the intensity of his gaze did not waver. Two could play at that game. Aizawa pulled his hand free, narrowing his eyes and setting his jaw, and moved his hands to his hips.

"Fine," he challenged. "I'll believe you, but I'm not going to see him get hurt. If I don't see enough improvement by the time they're out of middle school, I'm going to tell him myself."

Silence dragged on, heavy and intense. Naturally, Aizawa won their little staring contest, Toshinori eventually closing his eyes and nodding. What Aizawa did not expect was to be drawn into a warm hug, Toshinori's chin resting on his head and his voice rumbling pleasantly in his chest at this angle.

"Thank you."

.

The next time Bakugo was mentioned was a week later when, humming brightly, Izuku showed off a slightly discolored but mostly intact essay to Aizawa.

"It's . . . about humpback whales."

"What?" Izuku paused. "Well, yeah. But that's not the point!"

"Okay," Aizawa replied slowly. "So what am I supposed to be looking at?"

"I sprayed all my stuff with fire retardant! See? She can't burn it anymore!"

"But boy was she mad when she found that out," Hitoshi said, grinning. Izuku sniffed airily, shoving his report back into his bag and squaring his shoulders.

"She can keep throwing fits," he said brightly, walking ahead of Aizawa with a bounce in his step. "If she really likes detention that much, who am I to judge?"

Elbowing Izuku in the side, Hitoshi retorted, "We'll see how brave you are tomorrow when she finds some other way to harass you."

"She can try!"

Maybe Toshinori was right.

.

Or maybe he wasn't.

Months passed with only one or two noteworthy occasions each, their first year of middle school turning out overall successful. Though Bakugo was still a hot topic, most incidents were minimal damage, and Izuku no longer seemed too bothered by her antics. Things were going smoothly once more, and Aizawa finally felt he could breathe easy.

The moment he did, however, he got a call thirty minutes after dropping the boys off at school.

It took another twenty to find someone to cover his class, then another ten to hurry to the middle school. On the way he shot a text to Toshinori - _heading to the boys' school, I'll fill you in later_ \- and once he arrived he sped straight into the office.

The receptionist recognized him quickly. Her face was grim, and she gestured down the hall toward the principal's office. Aizawa could hear voices from several feet away, some quietly placating, others loud and aggressive. He paused halfway down the hall when he heard his sons, straining to make out the words.

"I just want to know - "

"He doesn't have to answer any questions until Dad gets here."

"Shinsou, will you please go back to class? This doesn't concern you."

"What he said! Let the adults do the talking, you snot-nosed little brat!"

"Miss Bakugo - "

"That's my _brother,_ you psycho bitch! I won't let you bully him into saying what you want to hear!"

Enough was enough. Aizawa flung the door open as hard as he could, the knob banging loudly off the wall, surveying the room as its occupants fell into shocked silence.

There were five people inside before him. Hitoshi was the only one who did not seem even a little afraid at the intrusion, visibly fuming from where he had clearly been pacing before. Izuku was sitting in a chair across the desk from the principal - a large, balding man - with a bloodied cloth held to his nose, next to two blondes Aizawa had not met before. He knew instantly that these were Bakugo and her mother.

"Hitoshi," Aizawa said coolly, eyes landing on his standing son, "I don't recall ever telling you that swearing was acceptable."

"I don't care," Hitoshi spat back. "She deserves it."

"Shinsou - "

"We aren't talking to you," Aizawa interrupted the principal sharply. Turning back to Hitoshi, he said, "We'll talk about that later," and then, looking to Bakugo's mother, demanded, "Now what the _fuck_ did your kid do to my son?"

Chaos erupted.

"What my daughter did?!" the woman demanded, standing abruptly. Aizawa towered over her, but she was fearless. "Look at what that mongrel did to her face!"

Bakugo glared hard as Aizawa shifted his gaze to her. She was sporting a rather angry-looking black eye.

Hitoshi, bristling, shouted, "He didn't - "

"It's okay," Izuku blurted out, voice nasally. Everyone paused to look at him. He slumped in his chair as if to escape the scrutiny. "I messed up. I'm sorry. Can we just get this over with and go home?"

"Yes, well," the principal started, clearing his throat, "I was thinking a three day suspension for them both - "

"What?"

"Excuse me?!"

"You can't do that!"

"A boy hits my daughter and they get the same sentence?!" Bakugo's mother fumed, slamming her hands on the desk. "Boys should know better than to hit girls!"

"But she - "

"Your kid bullies mine for months," Aizawa snapped, interrupting Hitoshi, "and when he finally defends himself, he's punished as a perpetrator?"

"I will bring this to the school board!"

"You can try. I won't have my son bullied into submission."

"Dad." Izuku's voice was quiet, calm. "It's okay. It's not worth it."

It was hard, quietly accepting Izuku's punishment, but if it was what he wanted then Aizawa had to let it happen. Of course, Bakugo's mother was far less graceful about it, swearing and yelling and making Aizawa's ears ring. They were out of the school quickly enough, though, and once they were free of her grating presence they all relaxed substantially.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Aizawa asked softly as they headed toward home.

Izuku had been staring down the whole time. At first, Aizawa was worried for his emotional state, but soon realized that he was simply deep in thought.

"He never hit Bakugo," Hitoshi grumbled from Aizawa's other side.

"I did," Izuku corrected, idle tone indicating he was still deep in thought, "a few times, while you left to get a teacher. But that black eye wasn't me."

"You guys wanna fill me in on the details?" Aizawa tried again, irritation stirring in his gut.

"Bakugo came to school with it," Izuku told him. Aizawa paused, and Izuku continued. "And . . . Bakugo was being weird."

"If by weird you mean beating you to a pulp," Hitoshi muttered.

Izuku rubbed at his forearms thoughtfully, bringing Aizawa's attention to more bruises there. They were likely from shielding himself. "I think Bakugo's home life isn't very good," Izuku said carefully. "His mom is forcing him to be a girl."

Oh. _Oh._

"I didn't really catch much of it," Izuku continued, a little sheepish. "I was mostly trying to keep him from hitting me. But he was crying, and . . . I think his mom doesn't accept him. I think he's hurting a lot."

Aizawa remembered it like it was yesterday - the way baby Izuku traced over the scars on his torso, how Aizawa spun the story of each one he traced, how easily Izuku accepted the matching scars on his chest.

"So he gets to hurt you in return?" Hitoshi demanded.

Did Izuku remember?

Izuku frowned. "No, but I can fight him without disrespecting him. That's what a hero would do." He squared his shoulders determinedly. "What he needs is a friend, not a punching bag, and I'm gonna try to be that!"

"You're an idiot," Hitoshi snorted, slapping him on the shoulder. "You're just gonna get punched again."

"I can take a few punches! If Bakugo needs help, I'm gonna do what I can!"

"Just don't take too many," Aizawa found himself saying, pride blossoming in his chest. "If I get another call like this one, Bakugo's going to be the least of your worries. And Hitoshi, if I hear another swear out of your mouth, I'm taping it shut."

.

Toshinori was endlessly proud of Izuku's decision to befriend his bully - so much so that he did not bother scolding him for his suspension. Aizawa thought he was way too fond of the idea of forgiveness, but he supported Izuku in making his own choices in life. As long as he did not get too hurt, that was.

From what Hitoshi told them, Izuku was having pretty much zero luck in befriending Bakugo, but according to Izuku, things were going swimmingly. Bakugo certainly never hit him anymore, and his insults were supposedly far less biting, though Izuku was the only source of that information. Aizawa simply had to take his word for it.

He found himself believing it.

.

"She - that demon - she's so _horrible - "_

For two years, nothing truly changed. Bakugo was not often mentioned, for better or worse, and both their sons were plowing through their classes easily. At some point Aizawa stopped walking them home as their schedules split between different extracurriculars. Life was quiet until the day Izuku came storming loudly into the apartment, incoherent with fury, with Hitoshi slamming the door behind them.

"Don't break the door," Aizawa scolded, glancing up from grading papers. He faltered at the sight of a red-faced Izuku and a deeper scowl on Hitoshi than usual. "What is it?"

"Bakugo," Hitoshi supplied when all Izuku could do was clench and unclench his fists. Instantly, Aizawa was on high alert, straightening up in his seat and gesturing the boys closer.

"What happened?" Supportive though he was, if that asshole hurt his kids _again -_

"Foster care," Izuku ground out through gritted teeth. "His mother, she - "

And then angry tears started to roll down his cheeks. Even Hitoshi, who had never liked Bakugo or cared for the idea of reconciliation, was biting his lip and clenching his fists. Sitting there, watching his boys stress over the situation of another, seeing them sympathize with Bakugo's struggle, Aizawa found himself at a total loss as to what to do.

"What happened?"

"We don't know for sure," Hitoshi started, but Izuku interrupted, sharp and biting.

"She doesn't accept him," he said, and Aizawa took in the shake in his shoulders, the tremble in his voice. "They had a fight, she kicked him out, and she won't take him back unless he keeps pretending for her - " He stopped short, breathing ragged as the waterworks started up again.

"And he won't," Aizawa filled himself in quietly.

He walked around the table to draw Izuku into a one-armed hug. Hitoshi did not hesitate to join when offered his other arm. Aizawa blew out a long sigh, fingers threading gently in Izuku's hair, and used the arm around Hitoshi to dig up his phone and text Toshinori one-handed.

_Come home early. It's gonna be a rough night._

.

"I want to do something," Aizawa confessed.

Light from a nearby street lamp filtered into the otherwise dark bedroom. Izuku was in bed, Hitoshi shuffling around the kitchen for a snack, and Aizawa and Toshinori spoke in low voices. Aizawa was supposed to be joining Hitoshi soon, but there had been little opportunity to properly fill Toshinori in until now.

"I know," Toshinori replied, fingers tracing light patterns on his partner's arm. "We could . . . I don't know."

"What?"

"Do they know what home he's at?"

Aizawa felt his heart stutter in his chest, his hand twisting the bedsheets. "Do you think the boys would be up for that?" he asked, hope fluttering in his stomach.

"You can ask them," Toshinori suggested, smile soft, "but I think you know their answer already."

He did. Izuku had a huge heart and a lot of love to go around, and Hitoshi was content to go along with whatever his family wanted. He would ask anyway, just to be sure, but Aizawa knew his sons and knew they would support the idea fully.

He just needed a little cooperation from them.

.

"Did you get it?"

"It was like pulling teeth - "

" - but I got a number."

That was how Aizawa found himself standing outside a rather pristine-looking building two weeks later, forced into a crisp dress shirt and slacks, his hair tamed into a ponytail and face clean-shaven. He hated dressing up. He supposed the scent of Toshinori's cologne lingering on him was not so bad of a touch, though.

He had called ahead to arrange the meeting, giving himself plenty of time to prepare, but his nerves still felt frayed, anxiety making it feel impossible to take a step forward. A hand rested on the small of his back, light and reassuring despite its sheer size. Aizawa glanced upward to see All Might towering over him. Somehow, despite the height difference, he managed to be a comforting presence.

He was really, really glad Toshinori had managed to get the day off.

"I guess now we just walk in, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You have to move your legs sometime, Shouta."

" . . . yeah."

In hindsight, walking up the sidewalk would be the easiest part of the entire visit. Toshinori was the one to ring the doorbell. Aizawa found himself wishing he was not playing the hero today - while Toshinori's muscle form was the strategic choice, he always felt better with his partner's true form. More comfortable.

The door opened, and an elderly woman with glasses greeted them. Aizawa got the impression she might be a tad too elderly for her job, as she filtered through her paperwork far too slowly. Toshinori gave a gentle squeeze to his shoulder when he started shifting his weight between his feet too often. _Stay still._

It felt like hours later that they were finally brought to what looked like a common area, empty for at least the moment, save for a middle-aged man that Aizawa recognized. The social worker.

"You've officially been through all the hoops," he said lightly, getting straight to the point before Aizawa and Toshinori even had the chance to take their seats. "Being pro heroes certainly gets paperwork expedited, doesn't it?"

Toshinori laughed boldly beside him as they sat down, so Aizawa forced his own smile. Already, he was on edge. He had been tired of the social worker from the first minute they had spoken over the phone.

"It looks like everything is in order," the social worker continued. He lowered his voice, looking serious, and Aizawa fought for his hair to stay flat when the man asked, "Are you sure you want her, though?"

Aizawa's hands clenched into fists in his lap. Toshinori reached over to grasp his hand, expression carefully pleasant as he carefully unfurled Aizawa's fingers and slipped his own between them. "What do you mean?" the blonde asked simply.

"Well, her evaluations . . . " The stranger flipped through the paperwork until he landed on a sheet from a psychiatrist. "She's got a lot going on. One of those transgenders, I guess. You sure you want to deal with that?"

Aizawa clenched his jaw tight, nails digging into Toshinori's large hands. His expression betrayed no pain, rubbing a soothing thumb over his partner's knuckles. It did not lessen Aizawa's desire to knock the social worker's teeth down his throat.

"We would love to welcome someone like Bakugo into our family," Toshinori replied evenly, his tone one of practiced calm.

Aizawa had to tune out. For his own sanity and Bakugo's pride, he had to let the social worker's face and voice fade to static. He knew he would hear a deadname here, incorrect terminology there, the wrong pronouns everywhere, and he knew he could not handle that much. Judging by the way Toshinori occasionally squeezed his hand a little tighter, he was struggling, too.

" . . . have her over on Sunday, then," the social worker was saying when Toshinori gave a soft, attention-grabbing tap to his knee. Aizawa did not know how long the meeting had lasted, but it seemed to be over. "Just sign for the temporary release and we can be on our way."

Aizawa signed his name in as obnoxiously sloppy of a script as he could muster, and almost snorted when he saw that Toshinori had scrawled his in stupidly huge letters like an autograph. The small, secret smile they shared felt like it lifted a massive weight from Aizawa's shoulders, making him feel light enough that he barely heard the social worker's chatter as they walked out the door.

"We're not gonna have to keep dealing with _him, _are we?" Toshinori muttered as they got in the car.

"We can request a change," Aizawa replied, "but not until everything's set in stone."

Toshinori let out an extremely loud, exaggerated groan, and Aizawa could not help but laugh.

.

"I'll be back in a week!"

As soon as the social worker wass out the door, Bakugo dropped his suitcase on the ground and shouted, "What the _fuck _is going on here?!"

Toshinori held up placating hands - they agreed that he should stay in his muscle form for this week, playing it safe in case he decides not to stay - and Bakugo flinched back, hands curling into fists. Toshinori winced a bit as well.

"What the fuck is going on?!" he repeated, in a wildly different tone. His gaze turned to Izuku and Hitoshi, who were sitting at the dining table. "Why the hell are shitty Deku and that brainwashing _freak _here?!" It ached a little to see how Hitoshi only gave a vague wave at the harsh insult. "And _All Might?! _And who the hell are you, raccoon eyes?! Is anyone gonna fucking answer me?! Huh?!"

Aizawa waited, until he was quiet, then asked simply, "Are you done?"

He was not. Bakugo spent another full minute at least hollering his head off about the situation, about the people there, about the weather, probably, and Aizawa glanced at his kids with a raised brow. So this was the infamous Bakugo - a dumbass kid with anger issues that picked fights with trash cans. No wonder Izuku got over it so easily.

When Bakugo stopped again, breathing hard, Aizawa asked, "Would you like to see your room?"

"Fuck you," Bakugo spat viciously.

"Right this way," Aizawa prompted, turning to walk down the hall.

Hitoshi started to snicker. Izuku grinned, elbowing him in the side. Bakugo glared at them both, ears practically pouring out steam, and snatched up his suitcase. "Shut the hell up!" he snarled, storming down the hallway after Aizawa. Hitoshi burst into full cackling behind them.

Aizawa opened the door to the unused bedroom that was once his. It was very simplistic in decor, with a bed, desk, and dresser, all in neutral tones. Izuku had kindly sacrificed one of his All Might posters to add some color, something he had assured Aizawa would be appreciated (or at least not loathed). Besides that was a window with simple curtains, which was currently open.

"What the fuck is that."

He was looking at the poster.

"If you don't like it, you can return it to Izuku."

Bakugo did not comment further. Aizawa turned his head away to hide his amusement.

"We don't really care what you do as long as you aren't causing property damage or yelling too loudly. Lunch is a free-for-all, but All Might cooks dinner, which I recommend you take advantage of. Don't start fights unless you want me to finish them. Keep me in the loop if you leave the apartment for something."

Aizawa listed off the guidelines in his dullest teaching voice, watching the expression on Bakugo's face morph from annoyed, to confused, to totally baffled. He restrained the urge to smile. It was a strange realization, that he was living so domestically that once-unheard-of emotions like amusement were now commonplace.

"I'm gonna grade papers. You need something, bug All Might. Try not to harass Izuku, will you?"

"Whatever," Bakugo snorted as Aizawa left the room, shutting the door behind him.

.

Bakugo spent all day in his room.

The day passed uneventfully, with not a peep from the bedroom. Watching television, studying, the boys going to hang out with friends, Toshinori even releasing his muscle form when it was clear Bakugo was not going to come out. It was not the worst case scenario and came as a relief.

Bakugo surfaced late that night. Some movie was on low volume, and Hitoshi leaned his head on Aizawa's shoulder, eyes dead as they stared, unseeing, at the screen. Aizawa circled a painful number of answers with red pen on an assignment, making a note to keep the student late for additional lectures. Then a door quietly unlatched in the hall.

It woke Hitoshi from his stupor, but a quick pinch from Aizawa prevented him from peeking over the back of the couch. He wanted to look, too, but he definitely did not want to scare their houseguest off. Quiet feet padded into the living room and froze in the doorway.

"There's leftover curry in the fridge," Aizawa said.

There was a creak of floorboards as Bakugo shifted. "I don't want your shitty cooking."

"Fair, but don't say that to All Might's face. He might cry." Hitoshi snickered beside him, and Aizawa elbowed him in the ribs. "There's some TV dinners and pizza rolls in the freezer."

Bakugo did not speak again. He remained in the doorway for a long time before shuffling into the kitchen. There was the sound of the freezer opening, then the microwave. A dinner, then, minimizing the amount of dirty dishes he made. A few drawers opened and closed as quietly as possible as Bakugo hunted down the silverware.

As soon as the microwave beeped, he was hightailing it back to the bedroom with his dinner.

"I've never seen him so skittish," Hitoshi confessed in a small whisper. Aizawa set his grading aside to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "What happened to him?"

Aizawa had no answer.

.

The next day saw their first fight. It was to be expected; they were just coming home after school, and Aizawa should have had the foresight to be there for the walk itself.

"What did I do?!"

"You existed, you useless sack of shit!"

"That's what you say every time! Get some new insults!"

"Get a new face after I blow it off!"

Izuku was biting back well, retorting more fluidly than Aizawa ever expected, but the sheer volume and venom in Bakugo's voice had him on edge. He rose from the couch as they shouldered their way loudly through the door. He waited with crossed arms. Izuku faltered the second he caught sight of him, but Bakugo did not back down, posture tense and fists closed.

"Are you both finished?" he asked. Izuku sheepishly nodded, but Bakugo bared his teeth.

"Fuck off, beanpole," he snarled, miniature explosions setting off in his palms. Izuku jumped a bit, and Hitoshi, appearing behind them, flinched a tiny bit as well. Aizawa stared on, unimpressed.

"Really," he said flatly. "Just try it."

The fact that Bakugo took the bait was a red flag in so many ways.

Bakugo leapt for Aizawa, a growl tearing from his throat as he came close. Aizawa activated his Quirk in an instant, and Bakugo's hand stopped before his face, no explosion coming. Shock came over the teenager's face. Aizawa grasped his wrist in a grip just firm enough to ensure he did not escape and leaned over him, eyes narrowed.

"What did I tell you about fighting?" Bakugo's eyes were wild and defiant enough already, so Aizawa kept his voice as low and calm as he could. "You're angry? It happens, I get it. You wanna take it out on something? Whatever, go for it. But you take it out on something healthy, like a punching bag or video game. _Never _my son."

He raised his other hand, and for a split second fear shone in Bakugo's eyes. Aizawa only flicked him on the nose, though, earning a disgruntled noise, and he released both his grip and Quirk.

"I don't want to do that again," Aizawa told him quietly.

Bakugo nodded, averting his eyes.

.

The rest of the week passed primarily uneventfully. Bakugo secluded himself in his room, and apparently he was quiet at school, as well. The only difference was that, at some point, he started to eat the leftovers of Toshinori's cooking instead of frozen dinners. Toshinori was elated, and Aizawa quietly proud.

Saturday night, Aizawa found himself in the doorway of the extra room, watching as Bakugo thumbed through a notebook. He was a good student, Aizawa knew; according to Izuku, he wanted to apply to U.A., which took a squeaky clean record. It was surprising that a kid so troubled still wanted to be a hero, but it left Aizawa with hope.

"The social worker is coming by tomorrow," Aizawa said. Bakugo gave no sign that he was listening. "Do you know what you're gonna do?"

"You say that like you're not just gonna tell the old bastard to take me back."

So he was listening. Aizawa folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. "What makes you think we'd do that?"

"Why'd you take me in the first fucking place?" Bakugo snapped back. "This is some kind of sick fucking joke by that useless Deku bastard, isn't it?"

"What kind of person do you think he is?" Jabs at himself he could take, but Aizawa bristled at the insult toward his son. "He wants to help you. We all do."

"Like hell you do!"

"What makes you think we're lying?"

"Who the fuck would want to help _me?" _His voice cracked. "Some confused little girl that destroys everything she fucking touches and hurts everyone she meets - "

_"Don't call yourself that."_

Bakugo flinched, and Aizawa forced himself to take a deep breath, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Don't call myself what?" Bakugo sneered, but there was a hint of something other than derision. Fear? Curiosity?

Aizawa did not want to reply. That required acknowledging the issue of gender at all, and he knew Bakugo was not in the right mindset to discuss it. Self loathing seeped from him like a tangible force and it took all Aizawa had not to reach out to comfort him in some way, knowing he would just earn an elbow in the diaphragm for the breach of privacy. Instead he calmed himself with a deep breath.

"Kid, I understand - "

"You don't understand _shit!" _The outburst is almost expected, but frustrating nonetheless. "Nobody fucking gets it - they all think they know better than me because I'm a fucking kid - then they think they know better than the therapist and the psychiatrist and anyone who takes my side - "

"I know what you're - "

"Shut up! Don't try to fucking pretend you get it!"

Aizawa turned on his heel. The yelling was agitating, and the last thing he needed was to lose his temper. That would result in more harm than good. He would simply let Bakugo tucker himself out and try again later.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

"To shower," Aizawa answered calmly, turning into the master bedroom. Toshinori was not yet home, out late on patrol, and Hitoshi and Izuku were smart enough to keep to themselves. "We can talk after, if you want."

"Don't you walk away from me!" Bakugo leapt from the bed, following him into the bedroom. "I'm not done with you, asshole!"

"I'm not going to fight you. We can talk later."

Aizawa pulled his shirt off, tossing it in the hamper, and went rifling through his drawers for a change of clothes. Behind him, Bakugo continued to rave.

"You're just like the rest of those assholes," he ranted, and Aizawa could hear him pacing in tight circles. "You act nice, but you're just fucking pitying me! None of you give a damn, you just want to fix me, or whatever bullshit you want to call it! You'll never understand!"

Aizawa's fingers curled tightly into a sweater under his hands. He could hear the way Bakugo's voice grew thicker and could imagine the tears welling up in his eyes, maybe even falling. _I don't understand, huh? _If he turned around, he knew he could drive Bakugo to silence, but was he ready for that? It was a lot of vulnerability, exposing that much about himself. But for Bakugo's sake . . . ?

"You'll never get it, so just fuck off and send me back. I don't care. Nobody understands."

Aizawa turned to face him, sweater in hand. "Try me," he challenged.

He was right - Bakugo had been crying. In the dim lighting Aizawa could see the stains down his cheeks, though it seemed the tears had come and gone quickly. Now Bakugo was simply staring.

Scars crisscrossed all over Aizawa's body. It was common among pro heroes to have many, and Aizawa was someone whose scars did not fade well. Knives, guns, even the rare accident - everything left its mark for years to come - but there were two scars in particular Aizawa knew Bakugo's eyes were trained on: matching incisions under each pectoral.

"Oh," Bakugo mumbled. Aizawa nearly laughed at how ridiculous he looked, mouth agape and one hand coming up to rub furiously at half his face. "You're . . . like me."

"Yeah," Aizawa replied, clearing his throat as an unfamiliar emotion had his chest tightening. "I am."

He did not expect the way Bakugo approached on unsteady legs, nor the way he threw himself into Aizawa's arms, and certainly not for him to start to cry. But Aizawa was nothing if not experienced with crying kids, so he wrapped an arm around Bakugo and ruffled his hair fondly.

"What do you want me to call you?" Aizawa asked him quietly.

"Katsuki," he mumbled, muffled from how he squished himself against Aizawa.

A good name, perfect for him. A choice that warmed Aizawa's heart. "It gets better, Katsuki."

Katsuki nodded mutely against his chest.

.

"So, Mr. Aizawa," the social worker asked, clipboard at the ready as though expecting defeat, "how do you feel about Bakugo being a permanent addition to the household?"

Aizawa laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward toward the case worker and enjoying how the man shuddered, clearly intimidated. "If he would like to stay, we would be happy to have him."

The case worker frowned at the choice of pronouns, but at a raised eyebrow from Aizawa, he seemed to think better of correcting him. Instead, he turned to Katsuki. "And would you like to stay?"

"Yeah, whatever," Katsuki grumbled, picking at his nails. "I'll stick around."

The paperwork was signed, and Toshinori and Aizawa were officially fathers of three.

.

**note: the way katsuki writes his name is "克己". from my loose research, ****"克" is triumph over, and "己" is yourself. i think this is an incredible name for a trans bakugo, one that inspires him and gives him strength through his journey. in other words, it makes my heart go uwu**


	5. Chapter 5

**Aizawa gets the whole story. It doesn't go well. cw: alcoholism**

.

"The time you can keep that up is getting shorter."

A gentle hand rubbed soothing circles into his back as he coughed, the taste of iron lingering in the back of his throat. "You noticed, huh?"

"Of course I noticed." Aizawa's concerned eyes searched his, his shoulders tense. "Your health is declining, Toshinori."

"I'll be fine, Shouta," he soothed, straightening up and giving Aizawa a thumbs-up. "All Might can't be taken down that easily!"

Aizawa frowned, unimpressed, and Toshinori's smile slipped a notch. His shoulders slumped when Aizawa did not let up. Those downturned lips and crossed arms were a menace.

"What do you plan to do when this keeps getting worse?" Aizawa demanded.

Toshinori could not answer. That was to say, it was not as though he had no answer; he had a plan, of course, and a backup in case that plan went awry, but it was not so simple that he could explain it here, in a tiny, dirty back alley. Aizawa did not even know everything behind the hero that was All Might. Very people did, of course, though it brought some guilt to dwell on the thought that even his partner knew so little.

"We need to talk," Toshinori found himself saying. Aizawa scoffed.

"Yeah, we do."

"There's a lot I need to tell you," he continued, rubbing his eyes.

"Then let's get home so you can tell me," Aizawa replied.

And that was how they wound up in their bedroom, still awake at three in the morning, Aizawa with his hands on his hips and Toshinori unable to make eye contact.

Of course Aizawa knew he had been injured badly in a fight with a horrible villain, and he knew it affected Toshinori's ability to be All Might. He knew his power was fading and he knew his health was deteriorating. He had never expected there to be more to the story, however, so Toshinori sat him down and told him everything.

That was how Aizawa wound up learning all of his secrets - in one fell swoop that had him lost for words.

"A Quirk that can be passed down to others . . . "

"Yeah."

"And you're looking for a successor?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have any idea who it's going to be?"

Toshinori paused. He knew the answer to that question, too, but how could he give it? How could he tell him that he wanted to pass his power to their son? How could he confess that he planned on taking away their child's chance at a normal life?

But Aizawa would have to find out someday, so Toshinori exhaled sharply and said, "I want it to be Izuku."

He expected Aizawa to get angry, or any kind of upset, really. Instead, in response, the erasure hero muttered, "I need a drink."

Toshinori remained glued to his spot on the bed as Aizawa left the room, padding quietly down the hall to the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and closing reached him even from the bedroom. He almost did not expect Aizawa to return, but he did, a glass of what looked like either bourbon or whiskey in one hand. There was a vague stab of envy somewhere in the back of his mind; Toshinori could no longer have alcohol.

"You want our kid to get your Quirk," Aizawa muttered, taking a long sip of his drink. "He hasn't had one for nearly fourteen years. What's that gonna do to him?"

"I started off Quirkless, too," Toshinori replied, probably more defensively than he should have. Aizawa narrowed his eyes, and he realized with a jolt that he had not included that detail. _Oops. _Still, he continued, "He'll need to train his body, but he should do that anyway. I turned out fine."

"I don't think I'd call your current status 'fine.'"

"I'm an exception."

"What if you aren't?" It was rare Aizawa ever sounded truly angry, but there it was, an undertone of danger seeping into the situation. "It doesn't stop at giving him One For All, does it? Your successor needs to become the next symbol of peace. That paints a target on their back. What do we do when some supervillain hurts him just as bad as you?"

"That won't happen," Toshinori replied immediately. He knew in his heart that was not true.

"How do you know?" Aizawa asked softly.

"I . . . " He could not know if anyone like All For One would ever resurface, the same way he could not know whether Izuku would live up to the legacy he left behind. "I don't. Not yet." But he would worry the same way were it anyone else, and he needed to believe in his successor, whoever it was. "But I have faith in him. If anyone can handle this fate, it's him."

Aizawa was quiet, and Toshinori could only assume he was thinking on it, mulling over the presented information and formulating opinions. He did not expect his partner to take it so well, but Aizawa had been surprisingly calm despite clear unhappiness at the situation. Toshinori counted his blessings and waited patiently for his reply.

"When did you plan on telling me? If I hadn't asked, would you have done it without my knowledge?"

"Of course not!" Toshinori blustered, a little offended at the notion, though he faltered and added sheepishly, "It would have been a while, though."

"And if I said no?" Aizawa challenged. "What if you came to me at the last second and I put my foot down? What then? What's your backup plan?"

"You can't just say no!" Toshinori bristled at the notion. "This is a huge deal - "

"And a huge responsibility that you'd be forcing on a child."

"This is so much bigger than me! Than us, than our family, than all of Japan! You can't stop the cycle because you're sentimental!"

"Deal with it," Aizawa snapped. Were it not for his growing indignance, Toshinori would have the sense to back down at the way Aizawa's voice rose. "I don't approve. There are millions of people out there that aren't Izukuthat I'm sure are plenty worthy, so give it to someone else. You will _not _curse our son with that kind of life."

"He can handle it," Toshinori argued, face growing hot.

"So can plenty of other people, Toshinori. He's a child."

"So was I!"

Aizawa curled his upper lip into a sneer. "And look how you turned out."

It was a hard blow, but despite the way Aizawa broke eye contact guiltily and hunched his shoulders, it was clear by the way he chose to down his drink in silence that he was not going to apologize. Toshinori's hand instinctively curled over the epicenter of the scar covering his left side with an accompanying wince that Aizawa did not see. The silence felt like it stretched on forever.

"I don't care what your reasoning is," Aizawa muttered, venom gone from his tone. "I won't let you do this."

He left the room before Toshinori could formulate a response, and did not join him in bed that night.

.

"Where's Shouta?"

Even Katsuki, who was not known to function (let alone speak) before nine in the morning, glanced up from his breakfast, copying Izuku and Hitoshi. Their expressions were as varied as the boys themselves - curiosity, guilt, and something distinctly guarded that Toshinori could not identify, save that it was a face shockingly similar to one Aizawa wore often.

"He left for work early," Hitoshi mumbled when neither of the other two spoke up. "Said he had lessons he still needed to plan."

It was clear in the way that he stabbed his eggs that he either did not believe the lie or knew more than he was letting on.

"He left you to walk to school alone?" Toshinori asked, alarm creeping into his tone. Izuku laughed nervously, a grating sound in the tense air at the dining table.

"We're going to be in high school soon," he pointed out. "We can handle it."

Did they both know what was going on? With a twinge of anxiety, Toshinori realized they had not exactly been quiet toward the end of their conversation - argument - whichever - and it was very likely that Hitoshi had been awake, at least, and not so far-fetched that they could have awoken Izuku. Of course Hitoshi would side with Aizawa, regardless of how much or little he knew of the situation, so . . . shit.

How much did they know, exactly? Surely Aizawa had not filled them in on the details? That would have messy repercussions -

"I'm heading out," Hitoshi said suddenly, pushing away from the table with his plate still half-full. He shouldered his bag and headed to the door.

"Ah - wait for me!"

Izuku jumped to his feet, swiping a slice of toast and hurrying to meet Hitoshi by the shoe rack. They both pulled their sneakers on, and Hitoshi was out the door soon after, Izuku offering only a hurried wave in farewell before vanishing as well. Toshinori's wave faltered when the door shut, a sigh leaving his lips as he moved to return to the bedroom and change.

When he resurfaced, Katsuki was gone as well, leaving him with an empty apartment and an equally hollow heart.

.

When he returned home late that night, Aizawa was grading papers on the couch, Hitoshi drifting to sleep on his shoulder, and light from the television flickered over their huddled forms, even with the lamp illuminating Aizawa's corner. On the coffee table was a bottle of wine, and curled in Aizawa's hand was none other than a wine glass.

"I'm home," Toshinori whispered softly.

Hitoshi's bleary eyes flicked to him for only a second before he frowned and pushed his face back into Aizawa's sweater. It felt like a pointed rejection, making Toshinori frown as his heart twisted a little.

Aizawa himself did not look away from the papers he was grading. No acknowledging glance, no welcoming smile, and with the elongated silence came the obvious realization that Aizawa was not going to welcome him home. He was not going to say hello, was not going to invite him to any leftovers, was not going to ask about his day or why he was home so late.

Toshinori dragged himself down the hall to the bathroom, spending as much time as he possibly could disinfecting his scratches instead of thinking about it. When he finally finished, Aizawa was still grading papers, so Toshinori went to bed alone.

.

That was how many a night passed after their fight.

In the first couple nights, Toshinori tried to initiate talks. They all wound up the same. _Unless you've changed your mind, I'm not interested. I'm not having this talk drunk. I'm not having this talk sober. _It was always some excuse, and Toshinori almost wish he would just admit it - _I don't want to talk to you _\- even if it would hurt far worse.

Aizawa had taken to sleeping on the couch. The loneliness and sleepless nights that came from that were harder to deal with than anything else.

He always had alcohol nearby nowadays. Toshinori was not the only one concerned; he caught Hitoshi pouring out unfinished drinks so Aizawa could not find and finish them later, Katsuki constantly making loud jabs at the habit, and Izuku anxiously wringing his hands every time he watched Aizawa pour a glass.

It all came to its peak when one night on patrol, to Toshinori's shock, he spotted Aizawa sitting at the outdoor patio of a cafe.

He was accompanied by someone Toshinori recognized - Nezu, the principal at U.A. Academy, an old friend of both of theirs. The area was otherwise empty. Toshinori immediately backpedaled around the corner he emerged from before either of them saw him, hand on his chest as he willed his heart to slow. What were they doing there?

Curiosity got the better of him, and moments later, he was perched on the roof of the cafe, straining his ears to listen in.

" . . . problem," Nezu was saying. "I thought it was early for you to be expelling so many students, but this is complicated indeed."

"I was justified in doing it."

"You surely were, I won't argue that. You just seem particularly agitated lately. Don't think we haven't noticed you coming in hungover more often than not, either."

Toshinori shifted slowly, silently, moving to a position out of their line of sight where he could see the duo. Aizawa was hunched into his scarves, disgruntled, while Nezu remained as impeccable as ever. They were certainly a curious pair to be spotted together.

"But to hear that it's all about One For All . . . "

"Do we have to talk about this?"

It was bold, questioning Nezu, but the mouselike man simply smiled pleasantly, continuing as if Aizawa had not said a word. "I'm sure Midoriya would be extremely pleased to finally have a Quirk of his own."

"That's cruel," Aizawa ground out. Even from this distance, Toshinori could see the way his fingers dug into his arms through his sleeves. "To take advantage of his eagerness to be a hero just so he'll take on this burden? It's a crock of shit."

"Regardless of whether you approve," Nezu replied politely, "it has to be done. We have an obligation to support the successors of One For All - "

"I don't care," Aizawa interrupted loudly, and his chair scraped loudly on the cement as he rapidly stood. "I don't care if I have some kind of sacred duty to perform - that's my _son!"_

Guilt stabbed deeply into Toshinori's gut upon hearing the raw emotion in Aizawa's voice. Was this what he had been stewing on all this time? He regretted stopping to eavesdrop now, wishing he could sneak away and leave this to Nezu, but now he felt he had to stick around to see how things turned out.

"Sit down," Nezu ordered calmly, but Aizawa stood his ground.

"If it's my job to sacrifice my kids for the fate of the world, then consider this my resignation."

"Now, Eraser," Nezu said, holding his paws up placatingly, "that won't be necessary - "

"It is if you insist on pushing this bullshit on him. He doesn't even know what he's being signed up for! Don't you think you're exploiting children enough already?"

"So tell him."

Nezu folded his paws in front of him, smile still intact and as serene as ever. Aizawa's shoulders moved as he breathed hard, hands clenched into fists. Details were hard to make out, but Toshinori could imagine his brow furrowing as he voiced both of their confusion.

"What?"

"He would need the story anyway to inherit All Might's power, no?" Nezu slid out of his chair as well, and Aizawa stiffened visibly, but Nezu seemed quite relaxed "So tell him yourself. Be the bearer of bad news and the first one to hear his response. It seems to me neither of you are taking Midoriya's feelings into account."

Nezu turned tail and started to walk away. Aizawa and Toshinori both watched him go, perplexed at his suggestion, staring until he vanished into the dark of night.

.

It was with a glass of wine in one hand that Aizawa took Izuku out onto the balcony several days later, and Toshinori's conscience was heavy with guilt as he eavesdropped from the roof. He listened as Aizawa filled him in on the story, and flinched as he put far more detail into the negatives than Toshinori ever would.

"You would get to be a hero, yes, but being number one would no longer be a goal." Aizawa sounded so tired. Another flash of guilt had Toshinori grimacing. "It would be a requirement. A quota you're expected to fill. If you were to take this on, you wouldn't be allowed to back down from it. Your future would be set for you."

Izuku's eyes were huge as he listened, trained on Aizawa's face, which Toshinori could not see past his hair.

"The Symbol of Peace doesn't get to have bad days. They can't quit and decide to do something else with their life. They're the country's top line of defense, maybe even the world's. If they can't fix a problem, nobody can. The world would fall to chaos. More than a responsibility, this power is a burden."

"Oh," Izuku said lamely.

They stared out over the railing at the city below them, and Toshinori indulged in a peek, too. The sound of cars whizzing past was distant, lifetimes away, but the lights always sparkled, gorgeous and calming. When Toshinori glanced back down, Aizawa was draining his glass. Suddenly he was very anxious about how the man was leaning over the railing.

"I still . . . " Izuku's voice was small. Both men turned to stare at him. "I want to try. If he thinks I can do it, then I want to."

"Izuku . . . " The name came out as a hard exhale, full of exhaustion, and the vulnerability in his voice had Toshinori's throat going tight.

"Dad, I've wanted to be a hero for _forever." _Izuku's hand rested atop Aizawa's on the railing, and Toshinori watched their fingers lace together and squeeze. "This is a lot to take in. But someone has to do it, right? Besides, if I found out Dad gave someone else his Quirk when I'm standing right here, still Quirkless, I'd be pretty jealous."

Aizawa huffed out a short laugh. The anxiety that had been eating away at Toshinori for the past several days was muted somewhat by a tender warmth as he watched Aizawa sling his arm around Izuku's shoulders and ruffle his hair.

"You're really his kid."

"I'm yours, too." Izuku's pout was audible.

"Yeah," Aizawa snorted, "but you've got his hero complex. You're already halfway there."

Toshinori slipped away as quietly as he could, feeling if he stayed any longer he would be intruding on a personal moment. _As if you weren't already._

.

"Toshinori."

He jumped minutely. He had not heard Aizawa touch down onto the rooftop, and definitely did not expect to hear his given name while in his muscle form. Toshinori watched as Aizawa approached, steps slow and measured. The capture cloth he wore betrayed his unrest, drifting loosely about him instead of resting on his shoulders.

"Eraser."

The greeting was feebler than he willed it. One of Aizawa's hands balled up into a fist and went flying at him. The impact hardly hurt his beefed up torso, but he winced instinctively at how close Aizawa came to his scar. His other fist hit the other side of his ribcage, just as futile, the impact even weaker this time. More than anything, Toshinori was startled at the outburst.

"I'm sorry," was all he could figure out how to say.

Aizawa's fists loosened, then his fingers curled to grab fistfuls of Toshinori's hero suit. His head drooped, resting against Toshinori's chest, and his voice came out in a quiet grumble.

"You'd better keep him safe, or I'll kick your ass."

Toshinori could not help the chuckle that rose from his chest. He felt safe enough now to pull Aizawa into a tight hug, closing his eyes and planting a kiss on the top of Aizawa's head.

"Well, I can't have that, can I?"

It was becoming a long night, and Toshinori felt the tug of his transformation wearing at him, so he released it with a long sigh. Aizawa looked back up at him, eyes narrowed as he searched for something in his tired expression. Toshinori rested a hand on his cheek, and whatever Aizawa was looking for he must have found because he leaned up on tiptoe a second later to kiss him.

"You didn't drink," Toshinori blurted, surprised, the moment they split apart. He had expected the taste of alcohol on Aizawa's lips, but found none. Aizawa frowned at him, looking perhaps a little hurt.

"Of course I didn't. Going out at night, drunk?" His tone added an unspoken, _d__o you think I'm an idiot?_

"Sorry," Toshinori apologized quickly. "I didn't mean . . . "

"I'm sorry too," Aizawa said before Toshinori could fumble for words. He looked downcast, and Toshinori wanted nothing more than to kiss that look from his face. "For everything these past few weeks."

The drinking, the temper, the avoidance. Toshinori understood. "I'm sorry for putting you in such a hard spot."

"I'll get over it. You just . . . you'd better protect him."

"With my life," Toshinori promised.

.

"Izuku!"

"W-What?"

"We're starting a strict training and diet regimen today! I'll make you into a hero worthy of U.A.!"

"Oh! Yes, sir!"

Pushing down the painful concern in his chest, Aizawa smiled and waved them off.

"Don't work too hard."


	6. Chapter 6

**New homes come with unexpected and somewhat suspicious expenses. Also, first name basis? Hell yeah.**

.

"This one is promising."

It was calm, spoken over the low hum of the car's engine, and the closest Shouta had ever sounded to optimistic. Toshinori tapped his fingers on the wheel anxiously as he rolled to a stop at a sign, glancing over to his partner. Shouta had been staring out the passenger side window, but, presumably feeling the eyes on him, he glanced back to meet Toshinori's gaze.

"You think so?"

Shouta nodded. Toshinori exhaled slowly, letting off the brake and turning onto a side street. Hearing those words from Shouta's mouth was a shock and a relief all in one. Out of every house they had visited so far, not a single one had tickled Shouta's fancy, some even making him wrinkle his nose in clear distaste, and Toshinori was starting to wonder if they had picked the wrong agent for the job. Even Toshinori only found himself interested in a few out of the dozen houses they had visited.

Too grand, not secluded enough, too many windows, too few bathrooms. Toshinori had not thought Shouta was picky when he first listed his requirements, but after so long, he started to question that judgment.

The agent was eager and noisy as always, approaching their car as it pulled into the driveway. Toshinori stepped out to greet him, sparing Shouta, who surveyed the structure before them.

They could not actually see much of it; most of the property was shielded by a fence of trees (lined up with a chain link fence, of course), including about three-quarters of the house itself. The entrance was very simple and unremarkable. Getting the message when Shouta approached the door, their agent hurriedly joined him, shoving a key in the lock and opening the door for him.

Toshinori trailed behind. Past the vestibule was a hallway, and past that, a living room with a fireplace. He could see a window pointed at the backyard from the front door. Already he found himself adoring the natural lighting as he followed Shouta from room to room, tuning out the details of the chattering in his ear and idly humming whenever the agent paused for breath.

This place did have promise. Judging by the lack of disgust on Shouta's face, he had not changed his mind about that.

After a tour of the first floor, they explored the upstairs, consisting mostly of bedrooms, though a secretive glance toward Toshinori and sparkling gray eyes told him Shouta's mind was already made. Still, they indulged for the agent, and after admiring the master bathroom they allowed themselves to be led back downstairs to the yard.

If Toshinori had not been sold from the second they walked in the door, he was the instant he stepped out onto the terrace and stared out at the empty yard, full of potential. Were the boys too old for a swingset? Would Shouta think an aboveground swimming pool for the summer was too American? What about a trampoline? That was tame, right?

Shouta only took one quick look at Toshinori's pleased beam before telling their hopeful-looking agent, "We'll take it."

.

Hitoshi grunted under the weight of a box of books, and Izuku rushed to help, carting it between them as they hobbled through the door. Strength training with Izuku had extended at some point to include Hitoshi, who needed to build up some muscle if he wanted to get into UA's hero course, and the move was a good activity for the both of them. Toshinori watched them go, nodded, and grabbed the nearest box - cutlery, by the label - before following them.

Inside found Katsuki fiddling with the entertainment center in the living room, deftly putting together a complex web of colorful cables with accuracy Toshinori knew he could never master. Kids these days knew so much about electronics, and it made Toshinori really feel his age.

On the far end of the living room were Kayama and Yamada, putting together a bookshelf amidst an incredible amount of squabbling. They had insisted on helping, practically begging, really, and the family could certainly use the help. Hitoshi and Izuku left the box of books with the growing stack of them and passed Toshinori on their way back to the moving van.

He found Shouta in the kitchen, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, stacking dishes into the cabinets. Toshinori hoisted the box he held onto an empty stretch of the counter. Shouta turned his head invitingly, and Toshinori obliged, their lips meeting in a warm kiss.

"Don't get too sentimental," Shouta warned lightly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Me? Never!" Toshinori placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "I'm only endlessly proud of my family."

"Sap." Shouta nudged him aside to open a cabinet, sliding a stack of plates inside. "The apartment was just getting crowded."

"And now there's so much room," Toshinori said, a note of awe filtering into his voice. "How are we ever gonna fill this place up?"

"Wait a year," Shouta replied, amused, as he opened the box Toshinori had delivered him. "You won't remember how we ever survived such a tiny place."

Toshinori laughed, planted a kiss to the top of his head, and headed back to grab more boxes.

.

Having a house was more expensive than anticipated, Toshinori found.

It was not as though he could not afford it - Shouta could single-handedly support the place on his scant hero work alone - but it was a lot of work, keeping track of their joint account, calculating and filing their bills, keeping a separate record of expenditures, and more.

"Do you really have to bother with all that shit?" Katsuki asked, stopping dead in his tracks to squint at the desktop screen as he tried to make sense of the spreadsheet displayed.

"It's important to track your finances to make sure nobody else is using your account," Toshinori explained patiently. "The bank, a stranger, maybe even a villain - anyone could unexpectedly get in and steal your money."

Katsuki paused, the information bouncing around in his head for a moment, then shook his head and grumbled, "Fuck that. I'm just gonna carry cash."

Toshinori chuckled at that. "Carrying millions of yen at all times is asking for trouble."

"Let some villains fuckin' try to steal from me," Katsuki shot back, bristling already at the imaginary scenario. "I'll kick their useless asses for trying!"

"Of course," Toshinori hummed in agreement. He returned his focus to the screen, and Katsuki shuffled off, likely to the kitchen.

Toshinori's eyes skimmed the transaction history. Electric. Gas. Water. Insurance. Internet. Phone service. Expenses that weren't obvious got little annotations, usually from Shouta - 'groceries,' 'gas,' 'movies,' 'new shoes,' among other things. Toshinori went through the list and labeled each of their subscriptions as well.

When he had exhausted all of the subscriptions he could think of, peeking at him amidst all of the withdrawals was one for about twenty thousand yen that he could not pinpoint. The proposed recipient was unfamiliar.

"Hey, Shouta," he called out. There was a shuffling from the next room, and Shouta appeared in the doorway.

"Hm?"

"Do you know what this went toward?"

Shouta approached the desk and leaned over Toshinori's shoulder, peering at the screen. His eyebrows knitted together. "Not off the top of my head."

"Huh," Toshinori mused, scrubbing at his chin. "That's about the price of a game, right? Maybe it was something for the boys?"

"Maybe," Shouta agreed. He straightened and shrugged. "Whatever it is, it's only twenty thousand."

Toshinori hummed agreement, altogether not too concerned. When faced with an account with tens of thousands inside, it was incredibly unlikely a thief would only take twenty thousand yen. They were bound to forget some expenditures. He marked it with 'unspecified' and moved on.

That was, until it happened again two weeks later.

Asking Shouta again got him nothing but an unconcerned, distracted shrug, so Toshinori wracked his brains hard and carefully listed every extra expense he could think of in his brain. Streaming and television services, music libraries, game subscriptions, magazines . . . and nothing fit the bill. With a heavy heart, he could only arrive at one conclusion.

"Alright, boys," Toshinori sighed, his hands on his hips as he stared down at his kids, who were shoved together on one couch, "do I need to explain the situation, or is one of you going to fess up?"

The three of them stared up at him with varying degrees of confusion. Toshinori sighed again, tried again.

"Some money has been missing from the account," he continued, trying to sound firm, and finding it was the hardest thing he had ever done. "Shouta and I track our expenses individually. If I didn't do it, and he didn't do it, then who did?"

"You think we stole it?" Izuku blurted, eyes widening in mortification.

_No, _Toshinori told himself firmly as guilt tried to settle in his gut, _you can't rule anyone out. Don't you dare go easy on him. _"You're all on the list," he said instead.

"Have you considered, I dunno, an actual criminal?" Hitoshi drawled, cheek on his fist. "Like a thief, maybe?"

"I called the bank," Toshinori defended himself, face hot. Did his kids think he was that stupid? "Of course I ruled out theft first. Twenty thousand yen taken from an ATM would be perfect for going to the movies or mall, though. So . . . ?"

"Wasn't me," Hitoshi said, leaning back and staring dully out the window.

"Me either," Izuku echoed quickly.

"Katsuki?"

"You think I'm fuckin' stupid enough to try to steal from the number one hero?" Katsuki snapped, baring his teeth, and Toshinori held his hands up placatingly.

"Fine," he relented, returning his hands to his hips. He reached one up to scrub at his chin. "I believe you. But if it's not any of you . . . "

"Are . . . " Izuku hesitated, but Toshinori gestured him to go on. Wringing his hands, his son continued, "Are you sure Dad isn't hiding something from you?"

Toshinori paused. Hitoshi raised his eyebrows, cocking his head in Izuku's direction, and even Katsuki glared from the corner of his eye with thinly veiled interest.

"Not anything malicious!" Izuku added hurriedly. "But maybe something like a surprise? Maybe he's saving up for something secret?"

Shouta had not seemed concerned about the missing money, that much was true. Was he planning something? He did not seem the type for surprises, though. No, it was possible Shouta was hiding something, but . . .

. . . what?

.

"We need to talk."

Shouta's fingers slowed on his keyboard. He rolled his chair back a few inches and spun to face Toshinori, facial features smoothed into something inscrutable. "Shoot," he prompted.

"The missing money," Toshinori replied. Shouta's hand came up to idly twirl a lock of inky black hair, a nervous habit his partner recognized. Not a good sign. "Listen, it's only twenty thousand - well, forty now -but the problem isn't the money. I need to know if you're hiding something."

Shouta's eyes wandered to something over Toshinori's shoulder. His reluctance to meet his gaze solidified his guilt, and Toshinori felt a weight settle in his gut.

"You don't have to tell me what it is," Toshinori tried, but Shouta shook his head.

"No, I will," he said, voice soft, and finally glanced up at Toshinori's face again. Were his cheeks . . . pink? "Tomorrow. Take your break early and be here at noon. I . . . needed to show you anyway. At some point."

"Why not now?" Toshinori found himself asking, then silently cursed. He should count his blessings, however intense his curiosity. But Shouta only shook his head again.

"You wouldn't believe me unless I showed you, anyway."

Waiting was unbearable.

Throughout the night, he could not take his mind off of whatever secret or surprise Shouta had in store. It took minimal interrogation from Hitoshi to spill the beans that Shouta was going to be sharing the reason behind the missing money, and soon both he and Izuku were scheming to come home for lunch as well, Katsuki even listening in with vague interest.

The next morning, Toshinori found himself distracted from work, so much so that he responded shamefully slowly to a mugging and nearly let a lowly thug get away. When noon was only fifteen minutes away, Toshinori found himself hurrying home, cutting through too many alleyways and making it to the house in record time.

He stumbled upon Shouta unlocking the front door at the same time, the boys crowding around him noisily, speculating as to what the secret could be. It seemed he could not convince them out of butting into the occasion.

Was the secret not such a big deal, if Shouta was allowing the kids to join in the reveal?

Toshinori announced his presence with a cleared throat. Shouta only spared him a brief glance before gesturing for him to join them, and the five of them filtered inside, Izuku muttering theories to himself the whole way.

Shouta opened the linen closet a little ways down the hall, and they all watched as he shifted aside a stack of blankets. He reached into the unveiled dark corner, and they all stepped back as he resurfaced with a heavy bag.

"Cat food?"

_"Expensive _cat food."

"We have a cat?!"

Shouta did not answer, only stepped past them and gestured for them to follow. He padded through the living room silently and stopped at the back door. The curtain was closed over it, as it always was when they were not home. Shouta put a hand on the handle, then inclined his head ever so slightly to address them, and Toshinori caught sight of his cheeks aflame.

"It's going to be loud," he warned, then threw the door and curtain open in one fell swoop.

A cacophony of meowing assaulted their ears immediately, and Toshinori's eyes went huge at the sight of an absolute sea of cats, at least two dozen, gathered on the terrace. All of them were making noise, all sorts of cats of all different colors opening their cute little mouths to yowl at Shouta, who reached into the bag of cat food and tossed a fistful into the crowd. They quieted quickly, swarming and hunting for the little pellets.

Shouta turned to face them, locking eyes with Toshinori, and sheepishly said, "Surprise."

"What the fuck - "

"This is amazing!"

"Don't rush them!"

"I was going to tell you eventually," Shouta said as Hitoshi herded his brothers away before they could spook the cats.

Toshinori watched as Shouta threw another handful of food to them. "Well, you were right," he replied, more than a little awed. "This is pretty unbelievable."

Hitoshi carefully approached the herd, steps slow and measured, and after a moment in which the cats did not run, he motioned for the other two to follow. Shouta offered them each a handful of food that they could use as a peace offering.

"They need fixed," he murmured to Toshinori. "There's enough of a stray problem around here already."

"It's nothing we can't afford." Toshinori came to stand by him, and they leaned against each other and watched the boys. "If you can get them into carriers, we can take them to the vet whenever."

"What are we gonna do with all of them?" Izuku piped up, glancing up from the black cat that was nosing insistently at his hand. "I mean, there's no way we can keep them _all, _right?"

"Definitely not," Shouta answered, though he himself sounded just as disappointed about the fact as Izuku looked. "We'll probably adopt most of them out."

"Most?" Hitoshi echoed, and he and Izuku shared a hopeful glance.

"Toshinori?" Shouta prompted, the same sparkle in his gray eyes.

Toshinori hesitated, then approached the small army of felines. The moment he crouched down, several turned and came sniffing for food, some nosing at his hands, more than a few giving curious little _prrrips _as they did. He tried to sound stern when he spoke, but in his heart he knew he was already sold.

"Cats are a big responsibility," he began, but Katsuki snorted.

"We get it," he interrupted impatiently, the rough edges of his irritation softened immensely by the visual of both of his hands occupied with petting cats. "Do we get to keep some or not?"

Toshinori waited a moment as though he was considering, and tried not to sound too eager when he said, "One for each of us." Glancing at Shouta, he found his partner's eyebrows were raised, and he quickly added, "unless you think that's too many?"

"No," Shouta replied, leaning down to stroke the back of a friendly calico. "We certainly have the room. You just didn't strike me as a cat person."

"I like all animals," Toshinori said honestly, smiling brightly. "Cats, dogs, birds, reptiles, you name it."

"Does that mean I can get a snake?" Hitoshi butted in.

"What about rodents?" Izuku questioned with a curious cock of the head.

"Don't get greedy," Shouta snorted.

.

For the next week, the family consumed their free time with capturing as many strays as they can, luring them in with raw fish and shoving them into comfy carriers to tote to the vet. The veterinarian they found was someone small Shouta had known before, an old acquaintance with a small business that he trusted well, and they easily filled up the small rooms available as each cat came in, got identified and fixed, and sent back out the next day.

"What shelter do we take them to?" Toshinori had asked, and Shouta had turned shocked, perhaps even offended eyes on him.

"We're adopting them out from here," he stated matter-of-factly, as though Toshinori was a fool to suggest anything otherwise.

(According to his later research, he was, in fact, a fool. Nearly every animal shelter nearby euthanized virtually all of the cats that came in.)

Only a few days later, Toshinori returned home to find a huge sort of cage taking up the terrace plus a large portion of the yard with it, with several cats inside. Izuku approached him, dusting his hands off.

"This is temporary," he answered the unspoken question. "It's kind of shabby, but once we've narrowed them down, we want to build a permanent one that covers the terrace, so the cats can come outside without running off to who-knows-where."

"You made this?" Toshinori asked, eyebrows shooting up. Izuku flushed a little pink, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Well, uh, Kachan actually did most of the work. I just held stuff in place for him. I'm . . . not very good at that."

"Then do better next time, asshole," Katsuki barked as he passed, carting two bowls of water with him. Izuku nodded eagerly at him, the promise of a next time being Katsuki's secret kind of encouragement.

"I will!"

.

"I want this one."

Hitoshi's voice was dry, perhaps to conceal the childish plea Toshinori could detect under it. The cat that Hitoshi was half-holding was a fat gray one with folded ears, blinking owlishly up at Toshinori with vivid amber eyes. His tail flicked languidly against the concrete terrace.

"I was waiting for that," Shouta muttered, reaching forward to scratch under the cat's chin. "He's been eyeballing you pretty much the whole time."

"He has?!" Hitoshi burst out, then quickly sobered himself. "Does that mean I can have him?"

Shouta shrugged a _sure, _and Toshinori copied him. "If that's what you want. Did you pick a name yet?"

Hitoshi grinned then, planting a hand on the cat's enormous belly. "Taro."

Toshinori's following fit of laughter dissolved into amused coughing.

Hitoshi had been the first to choose. Following him was Katsuki, who picked out a tuxedo cat that he named Masaru, and immediately set to work buying him as many camouflage-themed cat items as he could. Shouta had grown attached to a long-haired tortoiseshell named Kaede, and Izuku, the most indecisive of them, eventually fell for a white one, who he named Haru for his green eyes.

As much as Toshinori adored every single cat that they were caring for, he felt it unfair to pick one himself. Instead, he trusted fate, and decided the last cat remaining after the rest had been adopted out would be the one he chose.

That turned out to be a long-furred, sandy-colored tabby, lounging in a sunny stretch of grass and staring up at him with huge eyes. Yoko, he decided.

Toshinori thought she was gorgeous. It was a shock, then that she was the last to be adopted - they'd had one with a missing eye, even, but he was snatched up surprisingly quick - how could nobody want this angel? _But then,_ Toshinori thought, _that's what we do. We take in the ones nobody else wants._

He scooped her up with little complaint and carried the purring fluffball inside.

.

**according to the one site i looked at (im lazy dont at me)**

**taro = large son**

**yoko = child of sunlight**

**kaede = maple**

**haru = spring**

**masaru = victory**


	7. Chapter 7

**Shouta dwells on his complex feelings about the power Izuku inherits. **

**nothing truly significant happens this chapter, it's just some insight on how the exam/assessment stuff blows over with this particular dynamic between characters**

.

Shouta's eyes flitted from screen to screen. Watching Izuku in the entrance exam was stressful, to say the least. At least he did not have to worry about Katsuki, who was passing with flying colors, or Hitoshi, who was not trying out for the hero course. At least one of his kids had the sense to know when they were underqualified.

Of course Izuku would act a fool and run headfirst into danger. Of course the power passed onto him would _still _be too much for his little body. Of course he would break three fucking limbs. That was just how their Izuku was.

Shouta needed a drink.

He did not stick around to watch Recovery Girl's arrival on the battlefield. He knew he could not stomach seeing his child's limbs contorted back into shape or watch him be carried off on a stretcher. Instead, he turned and left the observation room, and made his way down to the infirmary.

He waited just outside the door until the stretcher turned down the hall, and Shouta opened the door for them so they could deposit Izuku on one of the beds. Recovery Girl came trotting in a second after, and she shooed her assistants away with a polite little wave. The door slid quietly shut behind them. At another small gesture from her, Shouta took a seat next to Izuku's bed, and he massaged his temples, eyes firmly shut.

"He'll be alright," the kindly old woman told him, patting his elbow sympathetically.

The door slid open again, and in came a familiar scarecrow. Toshinori cringed the second Shouta laid accusatory eyes on him. He rubbed the back of his neck guiltily, widely opting to stay on the far side of the room, away from the rage that threatened to burst forth at any second.

"I know what you're thinking," Toshinori started, confidence audibly wavering. Shouta only needed to glare silently for him to fumble and try again. "This isn't - that is, I didn't know - this wasn't supposed to happen."

"So you don't know what you're doing," Shouta replied dryly. "Wonderful."

"That's not what I - "

"Don't bother."

"Sho - ah, Eraser." Toshinori's voice was earnest, his eyes pleading, and Shouta could not stand to witness it. Fury mounting, he chose instead to focus on Izuku's sleeping face, soft and only showing a ghost of his formerly troubled expression. "I had no idea this would happen. I couldn't have. This never happened to me or my old master."

"Izuku isn't you," Shouta snapped, "or whatever person you've been using him to replace."

The hurt on Toshinori's face was not enough to dissolve his anger. Shouta shook his head, smoothed his expression, and reached forward to place a hand on Izuku's forehead. Warm, possibly a little feverish, probably from the sped up recovery.

"You should go," he muttered to Toshinori.

"I can - "

_"Go."_

A pause, footsteps, and then the door slid open and shut.

.

"Why are they in my class?"

"Word through the grapevine is Bakugo has behavioral problems. Sticking him with someone he already respects is easier on everyone. And of course, if anyone can push Midoriya to his full potential, it's you."

"You don't think I'll show favoritism?"

"I think we both know you're the least likely to show favoritism."

The conversation with Nezu was persistent in Shouta's mind as he watched his newest class work hard at their Quirk assessment. Heat washed over him as Katsuki flew past on flaming hands, and he stepped out of the way as Ashido followed on a streak of acid, coming dangerously close to dissolving his shoes. He would dock points off for carelessness.

Izuku came sprinting past, fifth to last. Shouta suppressed a tired sigh.

He knew it would be like this. Izuku was physically fit, but that meant nothing when stacked up against a class full of Quirk users, and there was no way he could use his own to his advantage. Not when it incapacitated him. The way things were going, Shouta was prepared to expel him.

The thought should not have brought as much relief as it did.

He knew when Izuku was going to use that useless Quirk of his. He was prepared. He leaned in close to his son, hair and capture weapon alike swirling in threatening tendrils around them, and hissed at him, "You don't have any control over that Quirk of his, do you?"

He could see the way Izuku's throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously. His eyes were wide with fear that had never been directed at Shouta until now, and he would be lying if he tried to deny the guilt stabbing at his heart.

"What did you plan on doing? Breaking your arm again? What use are you then?"

"I-I just thought - "

"Midoriya."

Izuku flinched, eyes widening even further than before at the use of his surname. This was not home, it was the hero course. This was U.A., and Shouta was not going to baby his son. _If anyone can push him to his full potential, it's you. _

"With that useless power," Shouta growled, leaning down so close their foreheads were almost touching, "you have no hope of becoming a hero."

It was cruel. Midoriya was not even the worst student there, but he was still the one Shouta needed to pick on. He was no normal student, after all. If he was to become some kind of protégé, then he needed to be bigger and better than the rest of the students. If he was going to be training under All Might, then he needed to gain control of his Quirk, and fast.

If he was going to become Number One, he needed to grow up and learn to face harsh criticism.

When Izuku turned back to him after throwing the ball, grinning through tears with an ugly, purpled finger, the resentment Shouta harbored melted away in an instant to make way for pride. Shouta quickly bit back his smile, waving an only vaguely impressed hand in his son's direction before they continued with the rest of the assessment.

Maybe Izuku did have some potential.


	8. Chapter 8

**In the face of adversity, Katsuki finds friends, and perhaps something more.**

**sorry this took so long to get out**

.

"Bakugo, please wait!"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, you useless twerp!"

"Mr. Aizawa! Help me!"

"Let him die, it'll be a favor to everyone!"

Shouta sipped coffee from his mug, watching as Katsuki chased Minoru Mineta through the classroom. Ashido squealed with shock and delight as Katsuki knocked into the desk she was sitting on and made it wobble precariously. Jirou had started up a chant of "kick his ass!" that Kaminari and Sero joined in enthusiastically. Iida and Kirishima were both busy chasing Katsuki and Mineta, though obviously for very different reasons, as Kirishima was joining in on the death chant while Iida furiously shouted over him that murder was _very illegal. _

Shouta took another quiet sip.

Mineta came scrambling toward his desk a moment later, shoving himself under it and cowering as he clung to one of Shouta's pant legs and sniveled pathetically. Katsuki, Kirishima, and Iida all came to a screeching halt before him, and the latter two started shouting over each other. Shouta waited with an unimpressed glare for them to quiet down.

"Bakugo?"

Katsuki grinned, wide and threatening, and tiny sparks went off at his fingertips. "Hey, Teach," he replied, barely containing his growl, "are you gonna let me kill that little fucker or what?"

"Mr. Aizawa, you can't!" Mineta wailed from under the desk. Shouta kicked his leg out, dislodging him, and made a noise of disgust.

"Get off of me."

"Mr. Aizawa," Iida started, heatedly gesturing as he spoke, "you can't allow students to harm other students!"

"Are you telling me how to do my job?" Shouta asked mildly. Iida faltered, then went at it again full-force.

"N-Not at all, sir! It's just that murder is very illegal! And so is harming other people at all, in fact!"

"Even if they're a predator?!" Kirishima argued, getting up in Iida's face so that the class rep shrunk back. "Some people need to be taught a lesson!"

"It's not up to us to teach them that lesson! Mr. Aizawa needs to do his job - "

"What if I'm a strong believer in vigilante justice?" Shouta interrupted. Iida gaped at him, and Mineta cowered at his feet, looking horrified. "Laws are not a basis for morality, Iida. You should learn and remember that."

"But sir - "

"I'd say I have more than enough probable cause to search your desk, don't you think?" Shouta directed at Mineta. He glanced up at his class, who were all watching the scene with unveiled interest. "Does anyone object?"

A series of shaking heads. Some part of Shouta wished someone would object just so he would not have to stand up, but that part of him was very small and quiet, the vast majority of his brain rejoicing that he would finally rid himself of this nuisance. Mineta had been a problem from the very beginning, bothering girl and boy alike, grating on Shouta's nerves with that annoying voice and his disgusting habits.

Shouta had hoped that consequence after consequence would stop his abhorrent behavior. Two weeks of it told him he was wrong.

Passionate jeers faded into silent disgust as Shouta exposed what they all already knew. He loaded all the polaroids in Mineta's desk into a folder, wrapped the little pervert up in his capture cloth, and dragged him out of the room. Before departing to the principal's office, he stuck his head back inside the classroom long enough to tell them to get back to work before they were next.

.

Expulsion. That was the likely outcome, and it was a breath of fresh air for Shouta to hear. He relayed on to his students that Mineta's family would also be facing legal action and supposed that would be it.

Until it wasn't.

Shouta would be lying if he claimed to be unaffected by his ex-student's antics. He had not always been seen as a man, and had been subjected to the disgusting antics of boys and men alike more than once. It seemed things had not changed since his childhood, and judging by Katsuki's lack of satisfaction after his ex-classmate's expulsion, Shouta was not alone in his disgust.

"Bakugo, my man," Kirishima said, clapping Katsuki on the shoulder, "lighten up! He's gone already!"

"I'm with him," Ashido complained, kicking her feet up onto the desk and clasping her hands behind her head. "That creep deserves worse than being expelled!"

"At least we can rest easy, ribbit," Asui said, and many of their classmates nodded in agreement.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was not at all set at ease. His fingers tapped against his chin rapidly, the only sign of his irritation aside from his perpetually hunched shoulders and bad posture. Shouta knew how he must have felt, watching Mineta pull the stunts he did; the girls in class were not the only targets of his perversion, as it did not take rocket science to figure out why Katsuki preferred to change in the restroom rather than the locker room.

Judging by his prolonged anger after the fact, Shouta wondered if this was not the first time Katsuki had been a victim of such disgusting behavior.

"Bakugo," Shouta called out.

His son turned his head toward him, and Shouta made a _come here _motion with his hand. He did not know what he was going to say. Should he ask? Should he hint? All Shouta knew was he did not want to sit and watch Katsuki stew on this for ages.

With a heavy sigh like Shouta had just asked him to do the dishes, Katsuki dragged his feet every step of the way to the teacher's desk, hands fidgeting in his pockets. "What do you want?"

"Watch it," Shouta said mildly, leaning back in his chair. He met his son's eyes for a moment, peered curiously at the restlessness lingering in them, and asked more quietly, "Everything good?"

"Fine," Katsuki grumbled guardedly, looking away. "If you just called me up here to play therapist, don't."

"I'm not," Shouta replied, honestly relieved that Katsuki was not the type to vent his feelings. A psychiatrist was probably better equipped to unpack whatever it was that was bugging his kid. Even if he knew what to say, a packed classroom with the Bakusquad curiously spying on their conversation was not exactly a prime location to hold a session. Even so, he added, "But if you need to get out and punch something, let me know. The wrestling room is empty at this hour."

Katsuki paused, peeking back at his teacher from the corner of his eye. "I'll be fine," he responded, more honestly this time. "But thanks."

Shouta offered him a pat on the arm, well aware he was probably the only person in the world that could get away with it. "I can't have you blowing up my classroom," he said in lieu of welcome, and Katsuki gave a trademark snort. "Just let me know if you change your mind."

Katsuki did not reply before heading back to his seat, but Shouta could see the eased tension in his gait and the way he let Kirishima sling a friendly arm around his shoulders. He would be just fine, Shouta decided as the bell rang and his class started to pack up their supplies. His friends - regardless of whether he referred to them as such - would pull him out of that rut in no time.

Shouta delayed behind his students in leaving the classroom, only Izuku lingering behind to wait for him. Hitoshi and Toshinori joined them shortly before Shouta was finished shoving ungraded papers into his bag. He shouldered it and left the room, locking the door behind them, and led his family down the hall as they chatted about their respective days. Toshinori's arm around his shoulders was a comfortable weight at the end of stressful days like these, and he leaned into the embrace with a small hum of appreciation.

Katsuki rarely joined them, but that was alright. It was his choice, and Shouta respected his individuality, so long as he wasn't spending that time doing shady shit.

As it turned out, he certainly was not doing anything shady. As they exited the school, Shouta spotted Katsuki seated on one of the benches outside, Kirishima lounging next to him. It was a pleasant day outside to be enjoying the weather, though they seemed to be focused on more important things than the weather. There, one could find another victim of Mineta's antagonism, unfortunately, but Kirishima had let it slide like water off a duck's back. _He'll be good for Katsuki. _

Hitoshi had clearly noticed them as well, and, grabbing his parents by the sleeves, yanked them back into the sheltered entryway and out of sight.

"Hitoshi, what - "

"Shhh!" Hitoshi hissed, then turned to Izuku, ignoring Toshinori's baffled expression. "You too!" He poked his head around the corner as discreetly as possible. "I wanna see this."

"Hitoshi!" Izuku whisper-panicked, tugging at his brother's backpack in an attempt to keep him out of sight. "Are you serious?! He's gonna kill you!"

"He can try," Hitoshi shot back. Izuku worried at his bottom lip and wrung his hands for several moments, buzzing with anticipation, before he finally joined Hitoshi in peeking.

Shouta heaved a dramatic sigh and leaned against the wall to wait. His kids were a disaster sometimes. Izuku was right in that Katsuki would probably try to kill them for it, and he mentally prepared himself for shouting to break out any second now.

"Young Hitoshi," Toshinori tried to reason, "spying is extraordinarily unherolike - "

_"Hush," _Hitoshi insisted, a bold interruption.

Toshinori, ever the meek parent, closed his mouth obediently, and only a few seconds later Shouta watched with growing exasperation as the hero also peeked around the corner to watch. "You three . . . " he started, massaging the bridge of his nose, then halted, unsure where to even start on how ridiculous the whole scenario was.

Hitoshi saved him the trouble. "Dad," he whispered urgently, eyes growing huge. "Come look!"

Shouta opened his mouth to protest, but even he was not immune to their contagious curiosity. Reluctantly, he squeezed in between Izuku and Toshinori to poke his head out from their hiding spot, scanning the area for whatever it was that had his son so insistent. _Just a peek can't hurt, right?_

He peered at the couple on the bench. Their backs were turned to the family, but with the boys facing each other, they were still in danger of being spotted. They were just a few inches apart, their body language saying what words could not, and Shouta knew they were intruding on an incredibly personal moment.

Kirishima's mouth moved. "Can I kiss you?" Shouta was not sure if he heard the words or read them on his lips.

Instead of replying, Katsuki leaned forward and kissed his classmate, and instantly Izuku flung himself away from the corner with his hands over his face.

"We should _not _be watching this," he mumbled behind his hands and cheeks that were glowing bright red, somehow maintaining the sense to keep his panicked voice to a whimper. "He's totally gonna kill us!"

Shouta agreed, turning away from the scene with growing embarrassment, and Toshinori quickly followed suit. When Hitoshi did not copy them, Shouta gave an irritated tug of his capture weapon, looping it around Hitoshi's eyes and jerking him backward by the forehead with another length of the cloth.

"Dad," he started to complain, so Shouta slapped another tendril of cloth over his mouth with growing annoyance.

"Hitoshi Shinsou," Shouta growled, loosening the cloth over his eyes only so his son could see the disappointment on his face, "you're grounded for the rest of your life."

"You can't do that - "

_"Try me."_

"Now, Shouta - "

"You shut up too," Shouta spat, snapping a warning tendril around one of Toshinori and Izuku's wrists each. "You're both on thin ice."

"You watched, too!" Hitoshi pointed out indignantly. Shouta felt his cheeks warm at the accusation, and he gave an unkind tug on his son's binds in retaliation.

"Don't make me ground you into the afterlife, too."

"That's not possible!"

"Watch me."

Shouta did not ground him for long, of course; after a week, he was allowed his consoles once more, and Izuku, the kind soul that he was, helped Hitoshi with the chores he was left with during his punishment.

After the events of that day, Shouta found Katsuki asking if Kirishima could come over to "study" in suspicious frequency. Having learned his lesson, however, Shouta did not bother thinking too much about it. As long as Katsuki was happy, he would count his blessings.


	9. Chapter 9

"Mr. Aizawa!"

_So formal, _Shouta thought deliriously as his son's guttural shriek reached his ears. Izuku showed remarkable restraint in not revealing their familial status. Alternatively, with Shouta's head spinning as it was and his thoughts clouded with the throbbing pain of the multiple breaks in his face and probable head trauma, the teacher knew that if he could speak, he would reveal that weakness in a second. As it were, he was too busy trying not to choke down gravel to attempt speech.

His eyelids fluttered, consciousness threatening to give in to sleep at any second. The excruciating burn of his elbow and the pulsing pain of his broken arms seemed to be the only things keeping him awake, battling fiercely with the concussion trying to overtake him, and he struggled to even remember what was happening. The monster's grip on his hair was slack now that he was not struggling, but it was still seated on his back, preventing him from escaping. Even were he free, what with all the blood loss, he did not think he could move.

The image of his students, frightened and endangered, finally cleared up in his mind, pushing past the fog to force him into alertness. _They still need me! _Face aching from the numerous splits in his skin - and probable fractures in his skull - he lifted his head as discreetly as he could from the gravel, forcing his stinging eyes open to look around.

There was the villain with the disintegration Quirk, reaching for one of _his _students. _Not on my watch, _Shouta internally hissed, raising his head and focusing his blurry vision. He would not lose a student to that bastard!

"You really are cool, Eraser Head . . . "

Pain exploded at the sickening _crunch _that accompanied the monster slamming Shouta's face into the ground once more. It lasted only a second, bringing with it the inky black depths of unconsciousness, and Shouta could force himself awake no longer.

He went limp in the beast's grasp, hardly registering Izuku's shouting as he blacked out.

.

The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was constant and soothing, enough so that it faded into the background. It was about the only source of comfort in the room; Aizawa's hair did not fan around his head like a sleeping princess, nor did his chest rise and fall gently as though he were at peace - instead, his sleep was fitful as he fidgeted restlessly, and his breath caught on his broken ribs with every intake, the man undoubtedly in pain even through the heavy drugs.

In the room's other bed nearby lay Izuku, scrolling on his cell phone, the screen lighting his tired face in the dim light of the infirmary. Despite the exhaustion brought on by Recovery Girl's healing, he had not yet slept a wink. He would soon, though, as he was not permitted to be discharged until he had gotten some rest, no matter how well his injuries had healed.

At least he was no longer crying; the way he had wept into Toshinori's arms after seeing Shouta so terribly hurt broke the hero's heart.

Soon, Toshinori knew, Hitoshi would also catch wind of the news, and he was not prepared for that fallout. When would he be permitted to come by? Lunch, perhaps? Was he just sitting in his classroom now, waiting for the last ten minutes until the bell rang? Would Katsuki come by, as well? With a pang, Toshinori wondered if the entirety of 1-A would join them to wish their teacher well.

Toshinori would have to wear his mask if they did. He was not prepared to do that. He already knew his timer had been shortened, and knew doubly well that pushing it further would do naught but hurt him. Perhaps he would simply pass himself off as a secretary. Surely the kids had seen his real form around campus enough for that. After all, it was not as though they could not know Toshinori, but simply could not be allowed to connect him to All Might.

Perhaps he would pose as All Might's secretary. Yes, that would do fine.

"Shouta!"

The shout was heard from down the hall, and in no time, Yamada was throwing the door to the infirmary open, Kayama on his heels. A testament to his exhaustion, Izuku did not startle at their appearance, only glancing away from his phone briefly before curling up smaller and disappearing under his blanket. Kayama gave him a pitying glance, but Yamada made a beeline for Shouta's bed.

"We just finished up with the paperwork - is he alright? Why didn't Miss Chiyo fix him right up? Yagi - "

"Hizashi," Kayama interrupted sternly, gesturing toward the Izuku-shaped lump on the other bed, which had stiffened considerably at the consideration. Toshinori felt just as stressed by the interrogation. "Keep it down, will you?"

As Yamada's lips turned into a pout, Toshinori cleared his throat before speaking. "She only speeds up the recovery process with what energy the body already has, and Shouta didn't have much after . . ." He paused, throat tightening in remembrance of his partner's broken body, limp in his arms. "After the incident," he managed to force out. "And he won't have much when he wakes up."

Miss Chiyo had actually said _if, _but Toshinori chose to take the All Might perspective of refusing to acknowledge things would be anything but fine.

"Oh, Yagi," Kayama sighed, moving around the bed to loop her arms around Toshinori's shoulders.

Taken aback, Toshinori went stiff in her arms. He had known Kayama to be the touchy, affectionate type since nearly the day they met, but it had never been directed toward him. In fact, no one ever directed affection toward him - nobody but Shota - so her gentle warmth was incredibly foreign.

"I'm so sorry."

Toshinori relaxed, resting his head on her shoulder and reaching up to hold her arm. He could feel the weight of her cheek against his head, grounding, welcoming, and his other hand rose to cover his face.

Why was his throat growing so tight? Surely, if he had not yet broken down, he was fine, and yet the deep breath he took to compose himself was undoubtedly shaky. What was it about Kayama's reassuring presence that had tears pricking at his eyes, that had every emotion from the incident rushing back to him in one long, forceful wave?

"It's alright," he tried to say, but it was a broken and pathetic little utterance through the painful emotion trying to bubble up from his chest. Kayama's long nails scratched gently at his scalp, pleasant and consoling, and he took a few long, shaky breaths to compose himself. Finally, he felt stable enough to reinforce, "I'm alright."

"It's okay to not be okay, man," Yamada spoke up from the other side of the bed.

"Stop it," Toshinori scolded lightly, cracking a smile. He wiped the wetness from his eyes and offered a gentle pat to Kayama's arm, signalling her to let go. "You'll make me cry. You don't want to see All Might cry, do you?"

"Not if he's as ugly a crier as you," Kayama snorted teasingly, punching his shoulder lightly.

"What about you, kiddo? How're you holding up?"

Yamada redirected his attention to Izuku, who finally poked his head back up above the blankets. Kayama left Toshinori with a gentle squeeze to the shoulder before skirting around the bed to chat with Izuku, and he watched her ruffle his son's hair fondly. Loud and ridiculous as they could be, Toshinori fully understood, now, how Shouta could be good friends with two people so much different from him.

The bell rang, signaling lunch period, and Toshinori's fellow teachers took their leave. He waved them off with a friendly smile. A glance over at Izuku revealed him smiling as well. For the moment, things were better. Hopeful. Relief filled the room like a tangible force.

And then the door slammed open again, breaking the spell, and Toshinori worried momentarily the continued abuse would break the door, too.

On the other side of the doorway stood Hitoshi, panting and looking even more frazzled than he usually did. He did not bother closing the door, taking hurried steps toward Shouta's bed, and he tossed his backpack uncaringly onto the floor before collapsing into the chair opposite Toshinori, reaching forward to take Shouta's hand.

"Hitoshi - "

"Is he gonna be okay?"

The fear in Hitoshi's eyes was so blatant and contagious that Toshinori could easily forget the closure he had felt only minutes prior. He leaned forward to cover Hitoshi's hand with his own in what he hoped was a soothing manner and offered a tentative smile.

"There's . . . well, a few concerns," he started, knowing Hitoshi would want the whole truth, "but overall, he's going to recover well."

"For sure?"

"For sure."

Hitoshi let out massive sigh and let his head fall to the white sheets with a soft _thwump. _"I don't want to go back to class," he muttered.

It was not the time for a lecture on the importance of education. Instead, Toshinori replied, "You don't have to."

Hitoshi paused, looking surprised, but then nodded and closed his eyes. "Good."

.

Hitoshi cringed as Toshinori peeled off the tape, and Shouta snorted at the expression on his son's face. "That bad?"

"You look like shit," Hitoshi replied, wrinkling his nose and exaggerating his disgust. "Let's wrap your face like a mummy. Spare us all the view."

Toshinori made a noise of protest, but Shouta laughed, the first smile they had seen since the man had awoken from surgery. "At least you're honest," he said, jerking his thumb at his partner. "That one would insist I look great while I'm making children cry."

"You do look great," Toshinori grumbled as he dabbed ointment on the stitches under Shouta's eye, smiling when the room's other two occupants voiced their amusement. The banter brought a soothing sense of normalcy that was very welcome in the otherwise cold room.

They had decided upon leaving Shouta with the school, where he would be much safer from the newfound League of Villains, and Miss Chiyo had been wonderfully welcoming, but it was obvious Shouta was becoming weary of the infirmary. It was moments like these that brought the spark back in Shouta's eyes; he longed for his classroom, for home, for more hero work, for anything that was not the infirmary, and his family could hardly blame him. Katsuki would not even enter the place.

There was a soft knock at the door. In the brief time that it took for the trio to glance at each other and the door in question, there was another, firmer knock. Toshinori was occupied with cutting another square of gauze, so Hitoshi pushed away from the bed and headed for the door. Anything urgent would not herald any warning, so who could be visiting, and why?

The door slid open, and beyond Hitoshi, a cacophony of voices rose.

"We're here to see Mr. Aizawa."

"We heard he's awake, so don't lie to us!"

"Whoah, who are you? You look dead - "

"Mina, that's rude!"

Hitoshi glanced over his shoulder, eyes shooting a silent plea for help to his father, so Toshinori set the medical supplies aside and stood. He crossed the room and glanced over Hitoshi's head to the people in the hall outside, and found the entirety of Class 1-A's girls waiting outside. Every stare snapped to him, and a few of the girls recoiled in shock, a shot straight through Toshinori's ego.

"Who are _you?!"_

"He looks like a scarecrow!"

"I think he might be a secretary? I see him around a lot."

"He's right there," Yaoyorozu snapped to her classmates, and they quieted, still fidgeting minutely. She rolled her eyes before offering a short bow to Toshinori. "I'm sorry, Mr. . . ?"

"Yagi," Toshinori supplied helpfully.

"Mr. Yagi," Yaoyorozu continued. "We're just a little worked up." She shot a glare at Mina, who smiled sheepishly.

"We're here for Mr. Aizawa," Uraraka piped up, holding up a bouquet of flowers.

"We brought gifts!" Hagakure said.

"And a card." Jirou raised the huge blue card in her hands, looking as though it was just construction paper held together with tape.

The girls all peered up at Toshinori, a silent, unanimous question on all their faces, but it was Hitoshi who crossed his arms haughtily, voice stern when he addressed them.

"I don't think he needs a bunch of kids up in his face right now." Several faces turned sour, and Mina stepped forward to get in his face, but Hitoshi stood firm. It was a little cute, how protective he was of his parent, but Toshinori shook his head and stood between them.

"He can make his own decisions," he said, firmness edging his tone, and Hitoshi's shoulders hunched in irritation.

Toshinori glanced back inside the room. Shouta was watching the display with interest, curiosity and amusement written all over his face. Their gazes locked, and Toshinori tilted his head in question. After a pause, Shouta held up his index finger, and Toshinori turned back to the gaggle of girls outside.

"One of you can come in," he told them. The girls turned to each other, quiet murmurs rippling amongst them.

"That sucks - I really wanted to see him - "

"Who should we send?"

"Tsu should go!"

"Ribbit?"

The bouquet and card were pushed into Asui's arms, as well as a paper bag with unknown contents. She looked surprised by it all, but the girls gave her encouraging nudges toward the room.

"Tell him hi from all of us!"

"And thank you!"

"Ribbit - "

Hitoshi slid the door shut on them the second Asui was over the threshold, and Toshinori fought not to chuckle at the irritation on his face. It softened at Asui's polite - and baffled - silence, and he took his place beside Toshinori, blocking Shouta from view. Toshinori would have worried that he was going to be rude were it not for the fact that his hands had relocated meekly to his pockets.

"He . . . " Hitoshi started, hesitant. "He doesn't . . . look great."

Asui nodded. She understood.

They led her to the room's furthest bed, where Shouta sat. He was staring out the window, and Toshinori recognized apprehension in the hunch of his shoulders and lack of eye contact. Sympathy for his partner had him suppressing a sigh; of course Asui would be the only person Shouta would not be prepared to face, not at a vulnerable time like this.

"Mr. Aizawa?"

It took time, but Shouta finally turned his head to look at his student with a slow, measured exhale. Asui immediately winced at the sight, and Shouta followed suit, tense uncertainty thick in the air. Asui looked down at the flowers in her hand, fingers fidgeting around them.

"Mr. Aizawa, I - "

"Asui," Shouta interrupted firmly, and Asui flinched, fingers tightening around the flowers.

"Call me Tsu," she reminded him in a small voice. The silence dragged on for a long moment before Shouta sighed.

"Tsu," he relented, and Asui glanced up at him past her bangs. "Don't apologize to me."

"But, ribbit," Asui protested, voice cracking, "because of me, you - "

"I did what heroes are supposed to do," Shouta interrupted once more, firm tone smoothing out into something gentler. "You're alive. That means it wasn't for nothing."

Asui looked like she badly wanted to say more, but Shouta's challenging stare held her back. She fidgeted with the flowers a bit more before finally handing them over to her teacher. Shouta hesitated before accepting them with some difficulty, the splint on his arm making it awkward - and judging by his grimace, painful - to maneuver.

"Here, ribbit." She also set the paper bag in his lap, and after a moment of surprised inspection, Shouta passed the flowers to Toshinori to be set gingerly on the side table. "We all pitched in to get you these. We didn't know if you liked sweets, ribbit, but we got you a box of chocolates and some energy gels. Assuming Miss Chiyo doesn't get mad at you for drinking them, ribbit."

Toshinori accepted the bag as well after Shouta finished peering inside, and it left his lap empty for the huge card. The front had _Get Well Soon! _written in huge letters, accompanied by various little unrelated doodles, mostly of flowers and hearts. The edges were crudely cut into some kind of border, an attempt at making it look more professional.

"Open it, ribbit," Asui prompted, wringing her fingers nervously.

Shouta did, carefully peeling the sides apart so the tape was not altogether too disturbed. Inside was a disaster. An absolute explosion of color in comparison to the simple front, there were small messages scrawled all over in gel pen of varying colors, some accompanied by more doodles. Someone had penned a rather nice drawing of Shouta's goggles in the center, and one student had even printed their message in a neat border around it.

_Thank you for protecting us, Mr. Aizawa! -Hagakure_

_Please come back before Present Mic blows our eardrums out :( -Kaminari_

_We really appreciate everything you've done for us. Please take your time to get better! -Iida_

_I'm so glad you're okay! Please come back to us soon, Mr. Aizawa! -Uraraka_

_You're the coolest, Mr. Aizawa! Get well soon! -Kirishima_

_If you don't get out of that bed soon, I'll drag you out myself. -Bakugo_

Shouta's fingers traced gingerly over the orange explosion lines Katsuki had drawn around his note as his eyes skimmed over every little message. They varied in length and tone, but they were all lighthearted and well-wishing.

It was sweet, really, and Toshinori was already wondering if he could find a frame large enough to hold the card. It was not until he glanced up at Shouta that he noticed a tear making its way down his cheek, another following quickly suit. They disappeared as Shouta rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, so quick Toshinori would think he had imagined it had he not known better, and Shouta glanced back up at his student.

"Thank you."

Asui nodded, continuing to wring her hands. She took a small step toward the bed, a question on her tongue. Shouta closed the card, set it aside, and inclined his head in invitation, and Asui all but sprinted to throw her arms around his shoulders. He brought a hand up to pat her arm as she rested her chin atop his head, and her voice trembled as she spoke, clearly fighting back tears.

"I'm really glad you're okay, ribbit," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

Shouta closed his eyes as well, reassuring her, "They'll have to try harder than that to take me out."

.

A week later, Shouta was cleared to return to teaching. He decided to take Hitoshi's suggestion, his face snugly hidden behind his bandages, and his arms casted from bicep to fingertips to dissuade him from moving them as he healed. All in all, it was likely a less intimidating look than his exposed injuries.

And if it let him sleep in class with nobody noticing, well, that was just an added perk.


End file.
